ER'5  Edition 

or  PL7\Y3 


A  KETTLE  OF  FISH 


Price,  16  Cents 


Return  this  book  on  or  before  the 
Latest  Date  stamped  below. 


University  of  lUinoisLibrary 


^,;;i*^' 


L161— H41 

REMOTE  STORAGE 


iri^^^^^SiS^^ 


A  KETTLE  OF  FISH 


Jk.  ^avjcijcal  &iamz&^  in  ^Uxzi^  Judts 


ADAPTED  FROM  THE  GERMAN 

OF 

FRANZ  VON   SCHONTHAN 


BOSTON 


CHARACTERS. 

FREDERICK  SALMON A  country  gentleman 

PAUL  TURBOT His  son-in-law 

HERBERT   GRAYLING Prospecting  for  love 

DR.   POLLOCK Prospecting  for  himself 

SIGNOR   PESCATORE         ....  Prospecting  fhr  another 

CRAB A  postman 

MRS.   SALMON Salmon's  better  half 

MAUD Her  daughter,  married  to  Paul 

ROSA Tier  aaughter,  unmarried 

MINNA       •.... A  maid-servant 


Time.—  The  present.  Costumes.—  Modern. 

Time  in  Representation.—  Two  hours  and  a  quarter. 


CorYRiGHT,  iSgo,  BY  Walter  H.  Baker  &  Co. 


f3VS37f 


REMOTE  STORAG 


f) 


A  KETTLE  OF  FISH. 


ACT  I. 


Scene. — The  sitting-room  in  an  old  country  house,  well- 
furnished,  looking  into  a  conservatory  through  which  is 
seen  a  spacious  garden ;  two  doors,  R.  and  L. ;  window  at 
back,  looking  on  to  garden  ;  furniture  in  good  style  but  not 
■modern]  chairs,  table,  couch,  &'c.,  Qr'c.,  placed- as  on  plan. 
Gas  full  on  during  whole  Act. 

Enter  Mrs.  Salmon  yr<7^  conservatory,  followed  by  Mum  a, 
with  two  letters  and  a  newspaper  on  salver. 

Mrs.  S.    Did  you  tell  Mrs.  Dawson  to  come  to  me,  Minna? 
MiN.     Yes,   ma'am.     And,  if  you  please,  here  is  a  news- 
paper and  a  letter  for  her  and  a  letter  for  you.     {Hands  them 
on  salver.^ 

Mrs.  S.   {anxiously').     Give  them  to  me  please,  Minna. 

^.Send  Grubb  to  BlundeU's  to  ask  if  « '  The  Fragrant  Leaflets  " 

^  has  arrived  yet ;  if  so  let  him  bring  a  copy.     Tell  him  to  go 

cv'at  once ;  and  then  come  back  here  yourself  instantly,  in- 

-i'-stantly. 

^     MiN.   (going).   "Instantly."     I  think  I've  heard  that  word 
,  w  before.     They  want  everything  instantly  in  this  house.     One 
"'  ought  to  be  a  flash  of  lightning  to  satisfy  the  missus. 

^  {Exit  Minna,  r.  2  e.  ;  Mrs.  Salmon  on  couch  has  been  read- 
■^  ing  her  letter  ;  Maud  enters  from  conservatory .) 

^  Mrs.  S.  Maud,  my  dear,  your  letters.  {Gives  letter  and 
'  newspaper  )  Dr.  Pollock,  the  editor  of  ' '  The  Fragrant 
^  Leaflets,"  has  written  accepting  our  invitation.  He  will,  he 
says  in  this  letter,  arrive  this  morning,  (Minna  returns 
here  ;  Maud  goes  to  window  with  letter  and  newspaper,  which 
'£?  she  opens.)  Minna,  go  upstairs  into  your  master's  room  and 
'>;  bring  down  the  bust  of  Dante. 
<       MiN.     What,  ma'am,  the  old  woman's  bust? 


rn:c- 


^ 


4  A    KETTLE   OF   FISH. 

Mrs.  S.  Old  woman  !  what  do  you  mean?  That's  Dante, 
the  famous  poet. 

Mm.  I  thought  it  was  an  old  woman  because  of  the 
nightcap. 

Mrs.  S.  Take  Wellington  from  that  pedestal  and  put 
Dante  in  his  place. 

MiN.  But,  ma'am,  Wellington  is  far  handsomer  than 
Dante .  (  M  inn  A  crosses . ) 

Mrs.  S.  (rises).  You  don't  understand.  If  we  were  ex- 
pecting a  general  I  should  leave  Wellington  where  he  is ;  but 
as  we  are  expecting  an  editor,  everything  should  express  our 
literary  tastes.  (£xzi  Minna,  2  e.  l.,  w////  dust  of  Welling- 
ton frotn  pedestal ;  Maud  comes  down,  places  newspaper  on 
table,  c.)  Maud,  my  dear,  what's  amiss  between  you  and 
Paul  ?  You  should  not  keep  secrets  from  your  mother.  Your 
father  and  I  have  been  married  nearly  five-and-twenty  years, 
and  I  know  he  has  never  kept  any  secret  from  me. 

Maud.     No,  mamma  ? 

Mrs.  S.  No,  my  love,  or  he  would  have  told  me  what  it 
was.  Now,  you  know  I  never  approved  of  your  marriage, 
and  I  believe  that  you  will  discover  your  mistake. 

Maud.  Mamma,  say  nothing  against  Paul.  I  own  that  I 
am  dull,  and  that  he  seems  to  think  too  much  of  the  farm  and 
the  horses,  but  I  am  sure  that 

Mrs.  S.  Ah,  you  should  leave  this  affair  to  your  mother. 
She  would  soon  set  matters  straight.  Anyhow,  as  you  seem 
to  prefer  to  keep  your  own  counsel,  there  must  be  an  end  of 
the  question,  I  suppose.  Come,  Maud  dear,  and  help  me 
prepare  for  our  distinguished  guest. 

(Exeunt  Mrs.  Salmon  «;2^  Maud,  r.  i  e.) 

(Enter  Minna.  2  E.  l.  bringing  on  bust  of  Dante,  which  she 

places  on  pedestal. ) 

MiN.     There  you  are,  you  ugly  old  thing.     Ugh  ! 
(Enter  Grayling _/r^w  conservatory ;  comes  down,  r.  c.) 
Gray.     What's  the  matter,  Minna  ? 
MiN.  (going').     Nothing,  sir. 
Gray.     Where  is  Miss  Rosa  ? 
MiN.     In  the  garden,  sir. 
Gray.     Come  here,  I  want  to  speak  to  you. 
MiN.  (l.  c).    What  a  nice  young  man  he  is !  and  isn't  he 
spoons  on  Miss  Rosa ! 


A   KETTLE   OF   FISH.  5 

Gray,  {takes  catalogtie  from  his  pocket ;  opens  it,  and 
points  to  a  picture') .     Do  you  know  whose  portrait  that  is  ? 

MiN.  {astonished) .  Why,  if  it  isn't  Miss  Rosa  and  our 
big  dog,  Lion ! 

Gray.  Hush!  Can  you  keep  a  secret?  {Gives  her 
money.) 

MiN.     ril  try,  sir.  {Archly  pocketing  the  money .) 

Gray.  Now  that  is  the  illustrated  catalogue  of  the  Art 
Club  Exhibition.  The  picture  which  you  see  on  page  32  is 
simply  described  as  No.  728,  "  Portrait  of  a  young  girl  with 
greyhound  at  her  side,"  and  the  name  of  the  artist  is  Julius 
Darrel.  Having  seen  this,  and  recognized  as  I  have  done  the 
portrait  of  Miss  Rosa  Salmon,  you  will  understand  that  I 
have  some  reasons  for  coming  to  this  house  and  staying  here 
the  last  few  days.  That  reason  is,  Miss  Rosa  Salmon.  I  am 
going  to  leave  here  to-day. 

'^m.  {sadly).     Are  you,  sir  ? 

Gray.     The  passing  mail  will  bear  me  off  to  New  York. 

MiN.  {aside).  I  wish  a  passing  male  would  bear  me  off 
to  New  York. 

Gray.  Now,  Minna,  I  want  you  to  swear  by  this  bright 
image  of  the  Goddess  of  Liberty  not  to  disclose  a  word  of 
this  interview. 

Mm.  Don't  say  any  more,  sir.  I'll  do  it ;  anything  to 
oblige  _y(5'«. 

Gray.     Now,  Minna !     Swear  to  keep  my  secret ! 

MiN.  I  swear.  {Theatrical  attitude  and  manner.)  Ha, 
ha,  ha!    {Laughing.)  {Exit  MimiA,  r.  i  e.) 

Gray.  Well,  to-day  is  the  last  of  my  stay  here.  When  I 
found  the  original  of  No.  728,  Miss  Rosa  Salmon,  was  a 
brunette  and  the  lady  in  the  picture,  though  bearing  every 
possible  resemblance  in  other  respects  to  her,  had  auburn 
curls,  I  thought  I  was  going  to  experience  a  disappointment, 
and  that  all  the  trouble  and  pains  I  had  been  to,  to  gain  an 
introduction  to  this  family  circle  would  be  wasted.  {Music 
soft. )  But  when  I  saw  and  spoke  to  her,  I  knew  her  at  once ; 
there  was  no  disguising  her  from  me.  But  those  eyes,  those 
magic  eyes,  that  I  am  .so  wildly  in  love  with,  shall  not  dazzle 
me  with  their  enchanting  gaze.  She  must  not  see  me  at  her 
feet  just  yet.  By  Jove,  here  she  is !  (Grayling  retires  up 
into  conservatory  as  Rosa  enters.) 


6  A   KETTLE    OF   FISH. 

{Enter  RoSA,  2  E.  R.  ;  almost  crying  with  disappointJtient, 

letter  and  newspaper  in  her  hand;  sits  on  couch,  R. 

Music  ceases  as  "Rosa. gets  to  couch.) 

Rosa,  I  never  was  so  disappointed  in  my  life.  To  think 
that  my  portrait  in  the  Art  Club,  which  the  critic  in  this 
newspaper  speaks  so  highly  of,  is  not  like  me  at  all !  It  is  a 
shame  that  Mr.  Darrell  should  have  presumed  to  alter  the 
color  of  my  hair  just  for  the  sake  Qurns  to  letter  in  her 
hand  as  if  to  find  out  what  he  has  written')  of  producing  "  an 
artistic  effect."  Artistic  effect,  indeed!  {^Rises.)  I  am  as 
angry  as  if  papa  or  Paul  had  found  out  about  the  picture  being 
exhibited.  I  wish  mamma  would  let  me  tell  them.  I  don't 
see  what  reason  there  can  be  for  any  secrecy.  {Sees  Gray- 
ling.)    Oh,  Mr.  Grayling,  I  didn't  notice  you  there 

{As  if  going  off,  R.c.    GRAYLING  stops  her  by  a  gesture.) 

Gray.  Miss  Salmon,  you  know  that  I  am  going  to  Lon- 
don to-day. 

Rosa.  We  live  in  such  seclusion  here  that  the  slightest 
event  is  known. 

Gray.  When  I  first  came  here  I  told  you  all  about  my 
plans,  the  treasure  I  had  so  long  sought  that  I  had  come  to 
seek 

Rosa.  Yes,  and  I  said  that  I  thought  in  divulging  so 
much  you  were  rather  foolish. 
^  Gray.  Foolish !  Why  not  ?  Have  you  ever  listened  to 
the  conversation  of  old  people  ?  What  topics  bring  back  the 
fire  of  youth  to  their  dimmed  eyes  ?  Why  the  follies  and 
escap'ades  of  their  younger  days ;  they  are  the  evergreens  in 
the  wreath  of  memory.  Don't  you  forget,  that  out  of  con- 
sideration for  your  old  age,  you  will  have  to  do  something 
foolish  one  of  these  days.     (Laughs.) 

Rosa.  I'm  afraid  it  will  be  duller  here  than  ever  now  yOu 
are  going  away,  and , 

Gray.    With  a  heavy  heart,  Miss  Rosa. 

Rosa.  But  with  regard  to  the  treasure  you  said  you  came 
here  to  seek.  ^  Tell  me,  how  is  your  search  progressing  ? 

Gray.  Not  so  well  as  I  could  wish.  It  has  not  quite 
come  up  to  my  expectations.  At  first  glance  it  appeared 
charming.  But  since,  I  have  discovered  that  it  possesses 
quite  a  number  Of  small  defects. 

Rosa.     Oh,  then,  you  won't  take  it. 


A   KETTLE    OF   FISH.  / 

Gray,  Thaf  s  the  ridiculous  part  of  it !  I'm  afraid  that  I 
shall,  despite  its  defects. 

Rosa  (crosses) .  Despite  its  defects !  Then  you  will  be 
sorry  for  it  when  it  is  too  late. 

Gray.  Thaf  s  what  I  have  feared,  and  yet  I  am  quite  in 
love  with  it. 

Rosa.  Why,  you  talk  of  this  treasure,  as  you  call  it,  just 
as  though  it  were  a  woman.  (Grayling  looks  at  her  ear- 
nestly. )     Why  are  you  looking  at  me  so  strangely  ? 

Gray,  {rather  taken  aback) .  Pray  excuse  me,  I've  noticed 
a  wonderful  likeness  in  you  to  a  certain  picture,  No.  728,  in 
the  Art  Club. 

Rosa  (J)retending indifference).  Really.  {With  affected 
nonchalance.)     How  interesting. 

Gray,  {aside) .     The  sweet  little  hypocrite. 

Rosa.  Of  course  it's  a  mere  coincidence,  {going's..)  but 
tell  me  all  about  it. 

Gray,  {aside) .  And  such  a  demure  little  face  with  it  all. 
{To  her.)  You  would  not  admire  it.  Miss  Salmon.  The 
young  lady  in  the  picture  had  the  most  unbecoming  hair  I 
ever  saw. . 

Rosa  {quickly) .  Of  course,  fair  hair  with  such  eyes  must 
look  simply  ridiculous. 

Gray.  Excuse  me,  but  what  do  you  know  about  the  pic- 
ture ? 

Rosa  {aside).  Oh  dear,  how  unfortunate!.  {To  him.) 
Well,  you  know — er — Maud — er — told  me  all  about  it  when 
she  came  from  town.  Anyhow,  your  suspicion  is  in  equally 
bad  taste. 

Gray,  {aside) .     Glides  out  of  it  like  an  eel. 

Rosa.  Mr.  Grayling,  I  think  you  have  done  me  a  great 
injustice. 

Gray.  Miss  Rosa,  pray  forgive  me ;  let  the  assurance  of 
my  regret 

Rosa.  I  can  believe  in  the  assurance,  but  I  can't  in  the 
regret. 

{Enter  Mrs.  Saimo^  from  r.  i  e.) 

,  Mrs.  S.     I  wish,  Rosa  dear,  you  would  go  and  see  if 
Grubb  has  returned  with  "  The  Fragrant  Leaflets." 
Rosa  {going  off^ .     Mr.  Grayling,  will  you  come,  too  ? 
Gray,  {to  Rosa)  .     May  I  ? 


8  A    KETTLE    OF   FISH. 

(^Exeunt  Rosa  and  Grayling  through  conservatory.') 
{Enter  Salmon /r^w  door,  l.  2  e.) 

Salm.     Ha,  Hildegard,  what  are  you  doing  there  ? 

Mrs.  S.     Have  you  s^en  Grubb  anywhere  about  ? 

Salm.     They  told  me  you  had  sent  him  to  the  village. 

Mrs.  S.  He  should  have  been  back  long  ago.  {At  win- 
dow.^ 

Salm.  Well,  he'll  come  soon  enough ;  why  are  you  so 
impatient?     {At  table.') 

Mrs.  S.  I  am  impatient  and  anxious.  When  one  has 
been  waiting  so  long,  and  a  much-cherished  project  is  on  the 
eve  of  realisation 

Salm.    What 

Mrs.  S.  One  that  may  change  the  whole  course  of  our 
lives. 

Salm.    What  on  earth  do  you  mean,  my  dear  ? 

Mrs.  S.  Frederic,  I  will  tell  you,  though  I  had  planned  a 
little  surprise  for  you.     But  perhaps  I  had  better  prepare  you. 

Salm.  Well,  fire  away  !  {Sits  on  chair  R.  of  table;  Mrs. 
Salmon  crosses  behind  Mr.  Salmon,  and  stands  with  her 
arm  on  his  shoulder. ) 

Mrs.  S.  You  remember  the  poems  you  sent  me  during 
our  engagement  ?  I  read  them  through  the  other  day,  and 
was  touched  to  the  heart  with  emotion. 

Salm.  Why,  you  don't  mean  to  say  you  have  kept  all  that 
rubbish  ?     {Rises  and  crosses,  L. ) 

Mrs.  S.  Every  line  you  ever  wrote !  I  have  them  all  in 
my  desk,  tied  up  with  pink  ribbon.  But  that  is  not  their 
proper  place,  they  belong  to  the  world.  {Crosses  to  K.  of 
table.) 

Salm.  But,  Hildegard,  don't  you  remember  that  when  I 
sent  some  verses  to  the  local  papers  they  were 

Mrs.  S.  Declined  with  thanks.  {Sits  on  chair,  R.  of 
table.)  Probably  the  editors  never  troubled  to  read  your 
poetry.  'Tis  the  fate  of  all  unknown  authors.  But  that  will 
all  be  changed.  {Takes  prospectus  from  pocket .)  A  period- 
ical called  "The  Fragrant  Leaflets"  has  just  been  started  in 
London,  the  editor  is  Dr.  Pollock.  He  offers  {quoting  as 
though  from  the  prospectus  with  a  rhetorical  manner)  publi- 
city and  fame  to  all  unknown  talent ;  he  seeks  co-operation, 
not  from  the  ranks  of  well-known  men,  but  from  the  mass  of 
unrecognized  genius  which  has  till  now  existed  in  obscurity. 


A   KETTLE   OF   FISH.  9 

Salm.  {laughing).     Indeed  !     {Sits  on  couch  l.  ) 

Mrs.  S.  I  sent  a  selection  of  your  poems  to  the  editor, 
and  the  result  will  be  seen  in  the  magazine  I  am  expecting 
every  minute. 

Salm.  Hildegard,  you  are  perfectly  ridiculous.  {Rises, 
goes  to  L.)  What  good  could  it  do  you  to  see  the  verses  in  a 
magazine  ? 

Mrs.  S.  Oh!  that  is  merely  the  first  step;  you  will  be 
talked  about. 

Salm.  Yes !  and  laughed  at  too  !  I  hope  the  editor  will 
send  back  the  trash  unprinted. 

Mrs.  S.  Pm  sure  he  won't.  The  Doctor  has  a  heart 
bursting  with  poetry. 

Salm.  {aside).  Let  it  burst.  {Crosses  to  R.,  aloud, 
severely.)  Now,  remember,  I  won't  even  look  at  it  when  it 
comes.     {Crosses  l.) 

Mrs.  S.     Frederic ! 

Salm.     I  won't  look  at  it,  I  say.     {Music  begins  here.) 

(Rosa  enters  from  2,  e.  r.  with  card  in  her  hand,  Minna 

following.) 

Rosa.     Just  look  at  this,  papa. 

Mrs.  S.     Has  it  come  ?  {Rises  and  turns  to  Rosa,  r.c.) 

Rosa.    What,  mamma  ? 

Mrs.  S.     Why,  "  The  Fragrant  Leaflets." 

Rosa.    (No.  Mrs.  Salmon  rises  and  crosses  from  r.  of 
table  to  window  and  then  to  sofa,  L.)   But  a  gentleman  wants 
to  see  papa,  here's  his  card.     {Crosses  front  of  table  to  c. 
corner. ) 

Salm.  {takes  cardfro7n  Rosa  ;  business  with  spectacles,  &'c.; 
to  Minna).     Ask  him  to  come  in.   {Exit  Minna,  r.  3  e.) 

Salm.  {reading card).  "  Palmiro  Pescatori,  private  secre- 
tary to  his  Highness  Prince  Topolski."  What  a  name !  I 
wonder  what  he  wants  me  for  ?     {Crosses  R.) 

{Enter  Minna  showing  in  Pescatori,  r.  3  e.) 

MiN.     This  way,  sir!  {Erit  Minna,  r.  3  e.) 

-Pesc.  {following  yiii^xfrom  back  of  stage.  He  is  dressed 
in  a  long  light  frock  overcoat  and  carries  an  opera  hat;  he 
advances  into  room  with  marked  step,  bows  in  an  exaggerated 
manner,  first  to  Mks.  Sa'Luoh.)  Signora!  {To  KosA,  bow- 
ing as  before.)     Signorina.     {Bows  to  Saimoh.)     Signer. 


lO  A   KETTLE    OF   FISH. 

Pescatori. 
Salmon.  Mrs.  Salmon. 

Rosa. 

Salm.  How  d'ye  do  ?  Sir,  may  I  ask  you  what,  has 
procured  us  this  honor  ?  {Music,  which  has  been  piano  dur- 
ing Pesca tori's  ejttrance,  ceases  here. ) 

Pesc.  1  beg  {appropriate  gestures)  a  tousand  pardons  if  I 
make  a  mistake  in  the  language. 

Salm.  {cordially').  Oh,  we  shall  understand  each  othen 
never  fear. 

Mrs.  S.     But,  unfortunately,  we  do  not  speak  Italian. 

Pesc.  Oh,  signora,  that  makes  nothing.  {Gesture)  I  speak 
a  little  English,  and  when  I  want  for  a  word  I  can  help  my- 
self out.  I  was  twenty-five  years  ballet-master  at  the  Royal 
Opera ;  and  when  a  word  sticks  in  my  stupid  head  {gesture) 
or  on  my  stupid  tongue  {gesture),  I  speak  it  with  my  hand. 
For  instance!  When  I  wish  to  say,  "  Ti  voglio  bene,'"  I 
do  so.     {Gesture,  for  '■'■to  love.''') 

Rosa.     Ah,  that  means,  "  I  love  you  !" 

Pesc.  Bravo !  When  I  wish  to  say  "  Sposare,"  I  do  so. 
(  Gesture  of  putting  on  wedding  ring. ) 

Mrs.  S.     Marriage.     Thafs  very  plain ! 

Pesc.  "Divorzio!"  I  do  so.  {Gesture  of  throwing  off 
wedding  ring. ) 

Salm.  Aha  !  Divorce !  That's  very  plain,  too.  There's 
a  good  deal  that's  very  plain  about  the  ballet.  Oh,  I  adore 
the  ballet. 

Mrs.  S.     Frederic ! 

Salm.  Merely  from  a  calisthenic  point  of  view,  my  dear. 
Now,  signor,  there  was  Pepita !  {Enthusiastically.)  Ah! 
what  a  dancer  she  was. 

Pesc.  {shocked) .  Oh !  oh  !  oh  !  signor,  do  not  say  so. 
{Gesture.)  You  must  see  our  prima  ballerina  in  Milano,  La 
Braggazzetta.  Oh,  what  an  artista !  With  Pepita  art  was 
small,  so  {gesture)  ;  the  newspaper  puffs  were  great  {gesture, 
stretching  arms  out),  so.  With  La  Braggazzetta,  che  puffs 
were  so  {gesture  suggestive  of  smallness),  but  the  art  {holding 
his  hat  high  above  his  head),  so.  {Conscious  of  his  looking 
ridiculous  and  with  exaggerated  bow. )  Ladies,  I  beg  your 
pardon.  Ma !  When  I  speak  of  art  I  always  lose  my  head. 
{Pushing away  the  chair.) 

Mrs.  S.     Keep  the  chair  and  sit  down,  sit  down. 


A   KETTLE   OF  FISH.  II 

Pesc.  You  are  so  kind.  (^Offers  chair  to  all  in  turn  and 
finally  sits  R.  ;  Mr.  Salmon  seated  chair  R,  of  table;  Rosa 
seated  on  sofa  L.  with  Mrs.  Salmon.) 

Salm.  You  are  Prince  {business  with  card)  Top — Top — 
polski's  secretary  ? 

Pesc.  Si,  signer,  and  I  come  to  you  at  his  command 
with  a  most  humble  inquiry.     {Bows.) 

Salm.     Well,  sir,  inquire.  ' 

Pesc.  His  Highness  is  a  fool  {gesture)  on  the'  subject  of 
art.  At  the  Art  Club  he  saw  a  painting  of  a  lovely  young 
lady  with  a  big,  immense  {gesture)  dog. 

Rosa  (/^  Mrs.  Salmon).     Mamma!     {Frightened.) 

Mrs.  S.  {to  Kosa).     Hush,  dear! 

Pesc.  "  Palmiro,"  he  says  to  me,  "  I  must  know  what  is 
that  young  lady's  name  and  where  she  lives.  But  the  artist 
he  give  no  information,  so  go,  seek,  Palmiro  " ;  {in  the  tone 
of  a  sportsman  to  his  dog)  seek,  avanti ;  go  seek,  Palmiro! 

Salm.    Well,  did  you  find  the  original  ? 

Pesc.  Ah,  Dio  mio,  signor,  that  was  not  so  easy !  Ma ! 
what  a  head  I  have.  I  seek  here,  I  seek  there  {gesture),  and 
finalmente,  I  see  right  in  the  corner  of  the  picture  a  date, 
Nahant,  1883.  {Gesture;  draws  figures  itt  the  air .)  What 
a  head  I  have.  I  go  there  {gesture)  to  Nahant.  I  ask  the 
big  {gesture)  \  I  ask  the  little  {gesture),  and 

Mrs.  S.  {anxiously).  And  you  found  out  the  young  lady's 
name  ? 

Pesc.  Ah,  no,  signora,  but  I  find  out  that  the  young  lady 
who  was  pictured  was  the  daughter  of  some  one  in  this  place. 

Salm.  What  ?  In  this  place  ?  Why,  you  were  at  Nahant 
last  summer. 

Mrs.  S.  {sarcastically).  My  dear  Frederic,  can  you 
imagine  "i 

Rosa  {copying  her  mother''s  tone) .  Perhaps  papa  thinks 
that  I 

Pesc.  Oh  non,  the  signorina  is  not  the  original  {rises 
and  bows  to  Rosa) — the  lady  of  the  picture  had  quite  other 
hair — red  gold  hair  and  round,  so.  {Gesture  suggestive  of 
curls.) 

Rosa.     You  mean  curls. 

Pesc.     Si,  signorina,  grizia  tan  to. 

Salm.  Indeed,  then  it  can't  be  my  married  daughter 
either. 


\ 


12  A    KETTLE   OF   FISH. 

Mrs.  S.     Of  course  not! 

Pesc.     Oh,  that's  bad.     {Sinks  into  chair .^ 

Salm.  Excuse  me,  it's  very  good.  It  wouldn't  do  for  me 
to  have  my  daughters  sitting  as  models.  We  couldn't  think 
of  allowing  such  a  thing,  could  we,  Hildegard  ? 

Pesc.  Ma,  Dio  mio.  What  shall  I  do  ?  {Gesture  to 
head. ) 

Salm.  Ask  in  the  neighborhood.  Our  neighbor,  Mr. 
Waghorn,  has  a  red-haired  daughter,  I  believe.     {Rises. y 

Pesc.  Da  vero  ?  {Rises  quickly.)  Oh,  signor,  you  take 
a  stone  from  my  heart.  {Gesture.)  I  go,  signor,  "  slante 
pede,"  to  the  neighbor.  {Goes  up,  comes  down.)  His 
name  is  i* 

Salm.     Waghorn.      {Business  of  blowing  horn.) 

Pesc.     Ah,  capisco!     {Gesture  imitating  Mr.   Salmon.) 
Ah !    I   understand !    Adio,    signor,    complimente,    signore. 
{Quick  exit,  c,  through  conservatory,  3   E.  R.  ;  business  of 
bowing,  &^c.) 

Salm.  {up  stage,  looking  after  Pescatori).  What  a 
curiosity !  Do  you  know,  my  dear,  {comes  down)  he  gave 
me  quite  a  turn.  If  I  thought  that  either  of  you  girls  had 
been  foolish  enough  to  have  your  portraits  exhibited,  I  would 
— well,  you  know  how  I  hate  publicity.      {Goes  to  window.) 

Rosa  {aside).  Mamma,  what  a  pity  it  is  we  can't  tell 
him. 

Mrs.  S.  {aside).  Don't  say  another  word  about  it,  you 
great  baby. 

Rosa  {aside) .  Pretty  good  for  a  baby  to  have  a  prince  in 
love  with  her  portrait ! 

Salm.  {has  been  looking  out  of  window,  draws  back). 
Now — how  annoying  ! 

Mrs.  S.  (l.  of  table).     What's  the  matter  ? 

Salm.  {coming  down  l.).  Why  this  infernal  nonsense 
about  "The  Fragrant  Leaflets"  keeps  running  in  my  head. 
{Pause.)  Hildegard,  which  of  my — of  my  poems  did  you 
send  ? 

Mrs.  S.  The  short  "  Sonnets  for  a  Lady's  Album — Son- 
nets to  the  Moonlight." 

Salm.  H'm  !  h'm  !  Well,  they  are  not  so  bad,  especially 
that  one  about  the  moon  on  the  woodland  cottage.  That 
was  very  much  admired.  {Breaking  out.)  I  wish  this  rub- 
bish would  come !  This  terrible  anxiety's  making  me  quite 
nervous .     (  Goes  up  stage. ) 


A   KETTLE   OF   FISH.  I3 

{Enter  Grayling,  r.  3  e.,  andyiKon,  r.  2  e.) 

Gray.     Mr.  Salmon,  I  thought  of  going  up  by  the  1.50. 

Salm-  Oh,  don't  go  before  luncheon,  go  by  the  evening 
mail. 

Maud.     Papa  considers  this  place  a  perfect  Paradise. 

Rosa.     But  I  should  think  that  after  New  York 

Mrs.  S.     Ah,  New  York! 

Salm.  Ah,  New  York!  The  old  tune,  ha,  ha!  The 
ladies  are  very  fond  of  town  life  and  are  always  worrying  me  to 
take  a  house  in  New  York. 

Mrs.  S.  This  place  is  so  dull — a  regular  owl's  roost!  One 
rusts  here. 

Salm.  Look  at  me !  I've  lived  for  twenty  years  in  this 
"  owl's  roost."  Am  I  rusty  ?  I  have  had  my  time  in  town, 
and  now  I've  settled  down  to  end  my  days  in  peace. 

Rosa.     Yes ;   but,  papa,  we  haven't  had  our  time  in  town. 

Salm.     That  doesn't  matter;  I've  had  mine. 

Mrs.  S.  That's  all  very  well,  when  a  man  has  no  genius  5 
but  you 

Salm.  That's  another  of  my  wife's  weak  points.  She 
wants  me  to  be  somebody.  As  if  it  wasn't  enough  when  a 
man  can  say  to  himself:  I've  always  been  a  plain,  practical 
man  ;  I've  never  done  anything  particularly  foolish  in  my  life. 

Gray.     So  much  the  worse. 

Salm.     Why  so  ? 

Gray.     Because  you've  got  it  to  do. 

Salm.     Excuse  me. 

Gray.  Excuse  tne,  sir.  I  don't  intend  to  be  rude,  biit  I 
have  a  fimi  belief  that  all  men  commit  some  act  of  folly  in 
their  lives ;  some  great  folly,  and  that  there  is  no  exception 
to  the  rule. 

Mrs.  S.    There  must  be  some.    {Crosses  to  G^k^'UXiG.^ 

Gray.  Madam,  I  think  not.  I  believe  it  is  written  in  the 
Book  of  Fate  that  to  each  of  us  comes  the  hour  in  which  we 
forget  all  that  experience  has  taught  us,  and  lay  our  offering 
at  Folly's  feet. 

{Turns,  r.  ;  Mrs.  Salmon  comes  to  r.  of  table.') 

Rosa  {roguishly) .     And  may  I  ask  if  you  yourself  have  ? 
Gray.     I,  Miss  Rosa  ?    Oh,  I  propitiate  the  goddess  by 
half-a-dozen  little  offerings  daily. 


14  A  KETTLE  OF   FISH. 

Salm.  (l.c).  Oh,  weU,  I'm  safely  through  my  years  of 
folly.  I  should  like  to  see  what  would  make  me  commit  one 
foolish  act ! 

(JEnter  Minna,  through  conservatory,  on  Mr.  Salmon's  last 
Ime,  with  magazine.^ 

Minn.     Here  it  is,  ma'am,  "  The  Fragrant  Leaflets." 
Salm.     Really.  (Mr.  Salmon — business — getting  excited.) 
Mrs.  S.     {rushes  to  Minna  and  seizes  book).     At  last! 

Frederic !    At  last !    Now  we  shall  know.      {Exit  Minna.) 
Salm.       (l.  ;  nervous).     Yes,  now  we  shall  know.     It's 

really  too  stupid,  but  I  am  quite  curious 

Mrs.  S.     Frederic  !     You — you  are  in  it ! 

{Falls  on  his  neck,  c,  front  of  table,  and  then  crosses.) 

Salm.     Is  it  possible  ?  {G-rayiaug  crosses  to -l.) 

Mrs.  S.  Look,  children.  Your  father  is  in  print.  (i?<?a^j. ) 
"  Flowers  by  the  Wayside,"  by  Frederic  Salmon. 

Salm.  By  Frederic  Salmon  !  Give  it  to  me.  I,  as  author, 
have  some  interest  in  the  matter,  I  believe.  Yes,  there  it  is  ! 
"  Flowers  tjy  the  Wayside,"  by  Frederic  Salmon ! 

Rosa.  Papa's  in  print.  {Business  and  crosses.  Turns 
to  Mrs.  Salmon,  kisses  her,  kisses  Mr.  Salmon,  turns  to 
Grayling — pause. ) 

Mrs.  S.     Yes,  and  he  may  thank  me  for  it.  < 

Salm.  (/<?  Mrs.  Salmon).  The  print  swims  before  my 
eyes.  It's  really  absurd,  but  when  one  has  one's  name  in 
print  for  the  first  time,  it's  a  most  peculiar  feeling. 

Gray.     So  your  husband  is  an  author !  (  To  Mrs.  Salmon.  ) 

Mrs.  S.  {proudly).  Yes,  he  has  another  little  thing  in 
this  month's  magazine.     The  editors  are  so  persistent ! 

Salm.     Yes,  yes,  they  are  the  plague  of  my  life. 

Gray.  Indeed !  I  understood  that  this  was  your  first 
work. 

Mrs.  S.  Nothing  of  the  kind;  he  has  been  writing  for 
years,  and  has  written  a  magnificent  tragedy. 

Salm.  {touching  his  forehead) .  And  there's  plenty  more 
where  that  came  from. 

Rosa.  Let  me  see,  papa.  {Crosses  to  h.c,  and  takes  the 
■magazine.) 

Gray.     May  I  have  the  pleasure,  too  ?  {Crosses  and  ad- 
vand&5.) 
< 


A   KETTLE   OF   FISH.  1$ 

Salm.  If  you  really  take  an  interest  in  such  matters,  I 
shall  be  glad  to  give  you  a  copy.  Is  this  the  only  one  we 
have  ?  {^Rings  bell,') 

{Enter  Minna,  r.  3  e.) 

Salm.  Send  to  the  bookseller's  at  once,  and  order  half — 
no,  a  dozen — well,  say  two  dozen  copies  of  this  magazine. 
The  number  which  contains  poems  by  Frederic  Salmon, — in 
short,  by  me.  (^Eodt  Minna,  r.  3  e.) 

Mrs.  S.  {taking  magazine  from 'Rq^k^.  The  fifth  is  my 
favorite.     Til  read  it  aloud.  v 

Salm.  Hildegard,  I  blush  for  you ;  in  the  presence  of  the 
author,  too  ! 

{Enter  Paul  Turbot  hurriedly.') 

Paul  {to  Maud)  .    Maud,  dear,  what  on  earth  is  going  on  ? 

All  {turning  to  him) .     Hsh  !  hsh  ! 

Salm.  Oh  !  my  wife  is  going  to  read  us — something ! 
(  With  importance. ) 

Mrs.  S.     Some  of  my  husband's  poetry. 

Paul.    What!  Poetry!  Ha,  ha,  ha!   {LaugJts  aside.) 

All  {turning on  him).     S-sh-sh  ! 

Salm.  {severely  to  VkjsV).  There's  nothing  to  laugh  at, 
Paul.     {To  Mrs.  Salmon.)     Hildegard,  proceed. 

Mrs.  S.  {reading). 

"  The  moon  shone  on  the  woodland  cot. 
And  all  was  quiet  round  the  spot. 
The  stars  gleamed  in  the  azure  sky. 
As  at  the  gate  I  said  '  good-bye.' " 

{All  the  ladies  clap  their  hands  at  end  of  verse.     Paul,  eX" 
treme  R.,  laughing;  Grayling  eoctreme  l.,  trying 
to  keep  from,  laughing.) 

Mrs.  S.  {reading). 

"  The  summer  sun  doth  gladly  shine. 
The  leaflets  wave  on  me  and  mine. 
The  birds  are  singing  gladly  now. 
Whilst  I  on  bended  knee  do  bow." 

Paul  {mimicking  a  puppy) .     Wow !    Wow ! 
Mrs.  S.     Frederic,  had  you  written  nothing  but  these, 
you — {cannot  proceed  for  emotion.) 

Salm.     Hildegard,  you  have  wonderful  taste ! 


l6  A  KETTLE   OF   FISH. 

Maud  (/<?  Paul).  Paul,  for  shame!  Papa,  the  poem's 
lovely. 

{Crosses  to  his  side;  Paul  laughs  again.  Business  with  Mrs. 

Salmon.) 

Rosa  {crossing  to  the  other  side  of  Mk.  Salmon).  Lovely, 
papa. 

Salm.  Maud,  Rosa !  ( Takes  one  on  each  shoulder. )  You 
are  good  girls.     I  never  felt  till  now  what  it  is  to  be  a  poet. 

Picture. 
R.  Paul.  Mrs.  Salmon.Maud.  Salmon.  Rosa.  Grayling,  l, 
{Enter  Minna,  r.  3  e.) 

MiN.  Please,  ma'am !  Please,  sir.  Here's  a  gentleman 
come  to  see  you.     He  says  his  name's  Pollock. 

Mrs.  S.  Ah,  Frederic!  at  last!  Minna,  show  him  in. 
Leave  us  alone  with  the  Doctor.  ( To  girls ;  crosses,  l. 
Exii  Minna.  Exeunt  Maud  and  Rosa,  2  e.  r.  Exeunt 
GviAYLii^iKind'P AVI.  through  the  conservatory.^  I  am  glad 
the  Doctor  his  come  at  last. 

Salm.  So  am  L  For  I  feel  that  my  tragedy  will  be  my 
rnaster-piece. 

Mrs.  S.     But  mind  you  don't  wear  yourself  out,  Frederic. 

Salm.  I  must  work ;  think  of  the  time  I  have  to  make 
up.  ril  give  you  a  poetical  simile.  The  fountain  of  poetry 
in  me  has  till  now  only  trickled.  You  have  removed  the 
stone  from  the  fountain,  and  now  it  bursts  forth  in  native 
grandeur. 

Mrs.  S.  Ah,  Frederic!  How  happy  this  all  makes  me. 
The  path  is  opening  out  before  you.  Pollock  will  give  you 
publicity,  he  will  be  your  literary  godfather.  {Enter  Dr. 
Pollock,  3  e.  r.,  shown  in  by  Minna.)  Welcome,  welcome. 
Doctor.     How  kind  of  you  to  accept  our  invitation. 

Dr.  P.  Madam,  I  am  under  an  obligation  to  you  for  think- 
ing me  worthy  to  serve  such  genius.  {Looks  at  Mk.  Salmon.) 
'Tis  he,  is  it  not?  That  is  Frederic  Salmon.  Welcome, 
welcome,  to  the  classic  shades  of  Parnassus  I 

{Embraces  him  almost  in  hisenthicsiasm.') 

Salm.     I  am  delighted  to  entertain  you  here.  Doctor. 
Dr.  p.     You  are  as  I  pictured  you  to  myself.     An  ideal 
man,  half  poet,  half  metaphysician.     Do  you  know,  when  I 


A   KETTLE   OF   FISH.  1/ 

read  your  poetry  I  said  to  myself,  this  is  not  the  work  of 
callow  youth,  a  man's  heart  throbs  'neath  this  impassioned 
verse. 

Mrs.  S.    It  does,  it  does.    (^Ecstatically.^ 

Salm.     Pray  be  seated.     (They  all  sit. ^ 

Mrs.  S.  What  has  pained  me  is  that  several  editors  have 
returned  my  husband's  poems. 

Salm.     And  with  several  unfeeling  remarks,  too  ! 

Dr.  p.  My  dear  sir,  thousands  have  suffered  as  you  have  ; 
my  new  magazine  will  change  all  that.  "The  Fragrant 
Leaflets "  in  the  near  future  will  become  the  asylum  for  the 
homeless  in  literature. 

Mrs.  S.  Such  a  magazine  is  one  of  the  necessities  of  the 
age. 

Dr.  p.  Naturally.  For  instance,  take  my  own  case. 
Have  you  ever  heard  the  name  of  Pollock  before? 

Salm.     I  can't  remember  that  I  ever  have. 

Dr.  p.  I  thought  so.  I  have  long  been  unknown,  even 
as  you.  But  we  are  going  to  change  all  that ;  talent  like 
that  of  Frederic  Salmon  must  come  out. 

Salm.  Well,  I  tell  you  candidly,  it  pleases  me  very  much 
to  see  my  "Flowers  by  the  Wayside"  in  print.  I  had 
hitherto  been  haunted  by  a  doubt  as  to  whether  I  possessed 
any  real  power,  and  — 

Dr.  p.  I  see!  Mistrust  of  self;  one  of  the  surest  signs 
of  genius. 

Mrs.  S.     You  see,  Frederic? 

Salm.  Fm  very  glad  to  hear  it.  But,  nevertheless,  I'm 
going  to  quit  the  lyric  field. 

Dr.  p.     Perish  the  thought ! 

Salm.  I  am.  I  feel  that  the  verses  do  not  flow  firom  my 
pen  as  in  my  earliest  days. 

Dr.  p.     You  are  too  modest ! 

Salm.  I  shall  try  the  drama,  and,  as  far  as  my  weak 
powers  go,  endeavor  to  elevate  the  stage  of  the  present 
day. 

Mrs.  S.     That  will  be  beautiful.     I'm  sure  it  needs  it ! 

Salm.  I've  nearly  finished  a  seven  act  tragedy.  Would 
you  advise  me  to  send  it  to  one  of  the  metropolitan  theatres  ? 

Dr.  p.  Try  the  experiment !  I  tell  you  that  two  or 
three  authors  have  the  monopoly,  and  they  use  their  in- 
fluence to  keep  out  the  rising  talent.     I'll  give  you  an  idea 


1 8  A   KETTLE   OF   FISH. 

of  their  argument,  it  is  this  -  To  have  a  play  produced  you 
must  have  a  name,  to  have  a  name  you  must  have  a  play 
produced. 

Mrs.  S.     How  cruel!     {Rises,  goes  to  table  inc. ') 

Dr.  p.  But  we  are  going  to  change  all  that.  1  am  going 
to  build  a  theatre,  and  I  will  produce  all  plays  by  unknown 
authors  that  are  submitted  to  me,  by  ?^«known  authors  only, 
mark  you.     Confide  your  manuscript  to  my  care. 

Salm.  If  you  will  allow  me,  I'll  read  it  to  you  at  once. 
{Rises  and  crosses  L.) 

Dr.  p.  I'm  —  I'm  afraid  there's  scarcely  time  before 
luncheon.      {Rises  and  follows  Mk.  Salmon.) 

Salm.  Oh,  plenty  of  time,  for  two  acts,  any  way.  I'll 
fetch  the  manuscript  from  my  study.     {Crosses  L.) 

Dr.  P.  {taking  paper  from  pockety.  Perhaps  you  would 
like  to  sign  this  contract  at  the  same  time. 

Salm.  Contract!  Oh,  I  don't  want  any  remuneration 
for  my  work. 

Dr.  p.  There's  a  slight  mistake.  This  contract  does  not 
provide  for  any  payment  to  you  ;  it  merely  —  as  a  matter  of 
form  —  pledges  you  to  take  twelve  copies  of  each  issue  of  the 
magazine. 

Salm.  {down  l.).  But  —  excuse  me  —  as  a  contribu- 
tor  

Dr.  p.  (l.  c).  As  a  contributor  you  should  contribute 
to  the  support  of  the  magazine.  It  is  to  your  interest  that 
the  magazine  should  have  the  largest  possible  circulation. 

Salm.  Well,  certainly,  seen  in  that  light  —  but  twelve 
copies  I     Oh,  well,  I'll  sign  the  contract.    (£"0.^;^  Mr.  Salmon, 

l.   I.  E.) 

Mrs.  S.  But  I  thought  we  should  receive  one  copy  free 
of  charge. 

Dr.  p.     So  you  shall,  madam  —  the  thirteenth. 

Mrs.  S.  Oh,  I  see.  And  now,  Doctor,  I  want  to  tell 
you  something  in  secret.  I  want  to  give  my  husband  a^reat 
surprise.  During  our  engagement  he  sent  me  a  bouquet  and 
four  stanzas  of  poetry  every  day.  The  flowers  are  long  since 
withered,  but  I  kept  every  word  he  ever  wrote.  I  wish  to 
have  these  poems  privately  printed.  If  you  could  recommend 
me  a  publisher 

Dr.  p.  What  do  you  want  with  a  publisher?  There  is 
another  abuse ;  we  are  going  to  change  all  that.     How  do 


A   KETTLE   OF   FISH.  I9 

publishers  grow  rich  ?     By  preying  upon  the  brains  of  rising 
authors  ! 

Mrs.  S.    Very  true. 

Dr.  p.  We  are  going  to  change  all  that.  Our  remedy  is 
every  man  his  own  publisher.  Publish  the  poems  at  your 
own  expense,  and  put  on  the  title  page  ' '  Written  by  the 
Publisher  —  Published  by  the  Author." 

Mrs.  S.     If  you  think 

Dr.  p.  I  will  let  you  know  the  cost  of  printing  and 
binding. 

Mrs.  S.    I  should  like  the  binding  to  be  in  high  art  style. 

Dr.  p.     Leave  that  to  me.     High  Art !  Um  !  High  price ! 

Mrs.  S.  I'll  go  and  fetch  the  manuscript  at  once.  I  shall 
be  back  directly.  (^Exit  Mks.  Salmon,  r.  i  e.) 

Dr.  p.  {sohis^.  I  wonder  when  luncheon  is  coming  on! 
There  are  some  simple  people  in  the  world  after  all ;  but 
you  must  go*  to  the  country  to  find  them.  In  big  towns 
people  are  so  excessively  wide  awake.  If  I  only  had  these 
J^fople  in  New  York  !  They  don't  seem  to  eat  much  in  this 
house.  I've  had  a  four  hours'  journey,  and  am  as  hungry  as 
a  wolf. 

{Enter  Salmon,  i  e.  l.,  with  a  voluminous  MS.;  places 
it  on  table,  stands  L.  of  table.  ^ 

Salm.     Here's  the  tragedy. 

Dr.  p.  (^aside') .  Tragedy !  and  on  an  empty  stomach, 
too! 

Salm.  I  chose  an  historical  subject,  being  of  opinion  that 
history  has  been  very  little  treated  by  dramatists. 

Dr.  p.     Indeed ! 

Salm.  The  main  incident  is  an  episode  in  the  life  of 
Charles  the  First. 

Dr.  p.     I  wish  I  could  get  a  bite  of  something  !   (Aside.) 

Salm.  (reads).  "  Charles  the  First,  historical  drama,  in 
seven  acts." 

Dr.  p.    (aside).    Seven  acts,  and  no  lunch! 

Salm.  (reading).  "  Scene,  a  banqueting  hall.  Enter  chief 
steward,  followed  by  retainers  and  cooks,  bearing  the  banquet 
on  dishes,  and  placing  roasted  peacocks,  venison  patties, 
partridge  pies,  etc.,  etc. 

Dr.  p.  (in  agonies  at  hearing  all  these  dishes  7nentioned). 
Don't,  don't  talk  of  such  things.  Partridge  pies  !  Heavens ! 
and  in  my  condition  too ! 


20  A   KETTLE   OF   FISH. 

(^Enter  Mrs.  Salmon  with  large  bundle  of  MS.   tied  up 

with  pink  ribbon,  which  she  hides  from  her  husband.') 
Mrs.  S.     Frederic,  will  you  let  me  speak  to   the  Doctor 
alone  for  a  minute  ? 

Salm.  Very  well,  I'll  go  and  get  a  glass  of  sherry  before 
I  begin  the  reading.     {Exit,  l.  i  e.) 

Dr.  p.     a   glass    of    sherry!        {Aside,  following   Mr. 

Salmon.)    Oh,  by  the  way,  I 

Mrs.  S.  {stopping  him).  Here,  Doctor,  here  is  my 
treasure.  •  Poems  received  during  our  engagement.  Come 
to  my  room,  we  can  talk  there  without  interruption. 

Dr.  p.  Madam,  there's  plenty  of  time  before  us.  You 
may  be  busy  ordering  the  partridge  pies  —  I  mean  —  the 
luncheon. 

Mrs.  S.     Not  at  all.      Ill  read  you  one  or  two  of  the 
best.     I've  marked  all  the  gems  with  a  red   cross.      {Going, 
reads.) 
(Pescatori  and  Grayling  appear  in  conservatory  talking, 
and  com.e  down  on  cue  at  exit  of  Mrs.  Salmon  and  Dr. 
Pollock.) 
Mrs.  S.  "  Drink  to  me  only  with  thine  eyes, 

And  I  will  pledge  with  mine  !  " 
Beautiful,  isn't  it.  Doctor.'' 

Dr.  p.     Quite  Jonsonian,  my  dear  madam. 
Mrs.  S.       "  Oh,  would  I  were  a  glove  upon  that  hand. 
That  I  might  touch  that  cheek  ! " 
Oh,  Doctor,  isn't //^a/ tender? 

Dr.  p.  Shaksperean,  my  dear  madam,  Shakesperean  in 
every  word.     Oh,  heavens  !  I  shall  faint. 

{Exit  Mrs.  Sklmoh,  followed  by  T>Yi..  Pollock,  r.  i  e. 

GRAp:.iNG  ««^ Pescatori  comedown  c.) 
Gray.     And  so  your  Prince  is  very  anxious  to  find  the 
original  of  No.  728? 

Pesc.  Oh,  signor,  he  is  one  madman  for  the  original  of 
the  picture. 

Gray.     You  don't  say  so  ? 

Pesc.  He  telegraph  me  always,  "  Seek,  Palmiro."  {Ges- 
tures.) 

Gray,      {aside).     I    do    not   like   this  love-sick   Prince. 
{Aloud.)     Indeed ! 
Pesc.     Madonna!     I  seek,  {gesture)  but  I  find  nothing. 

(  Gesture  of  despair. ) 


A   KETTLE  OF  FISH.  21 

Gray.     Thank  goodness ! 

Pesc.  I've  knocked  at  every  door  {gesture)  in  this  place. 
Ma  niente  !  One  has  no  daughter,  one  has  seven,  but  they 
were  not  at  Nahant,  and  another  has  a  daughter  so  high. 
{Gesture,  moves  infant  in  his  arms.)  Corpo  di  Bacco  !  Ma 
finalmente  !     I  found  a  young  lady  here  ! 

Gray.     The  original  ? 

Pesc.  Non  —  ma,  that's  nothing.  I  was  so  glad.  Oh, 
she  was  so  lovely;  so  very,  very  lovely;  so  sapette — what 
shall  I  say  ?  —  sapette,  una  bella  regazza,  con  occhi  {shows 
eyes)  cosi  grandi,  una  bocchina,  {shows  mouth)  cosi  piccola 
ed  orrechi,  {shows  ears)  —  ebbene,  una  bellezza,  come  non 
vide  mai ! 

Gray,     {smiling).     Very  good.     Proceed. 

Pesc.  Ah,  signer,  you  laugh  because  my  stupid  heart  runs 
away  with  my  silly  head  ! 

Gray.     Yes,  I  know  all  about  the  hot  Italian  blood. 

Pesc.  Si,  signer  —  hot  blood.  In  an  English  heart  it 
goes  tick-tack,  tick-tack,  tick-tack.  {Slowly.)  But  Italian 
hearts  go  tick-tack,  tick-tack,  tick-tack.     {Very  quickly .) 

Gray.     Very  good  ;  but  why  have  you  returned  ? 

Pesc.     I  want  to  speak  to  her  again. 

Gray,  {aside).  Then  he  can't  be  got  out  of  the  way  too 
quickly. 

Pesc.     I  wish  to  see  the  young  lady. 

Gray,  {quickly) .  You'll  do  nothing  of  the  kind  —  I 
mean  I  shouldn't  advise  you  to.  The  affair's  very  simple. 
They  told  you  at  Nahant  that  the  young  lady  came  from 
here? 

Pesc.     Si,  signor. 

Gray.     Very  well ;  now  you  cannot  find  her  here? 

Pesc.    Si,  signor. 

Gray.  Then  the  conclusion  is  simply  that  when  she  left 
Nahant  she  went  somewhere  else.  So  you  should  not  have 
asked  where  she  came  from,  but  where  she  went  to. 

Pesc.  Ma  si,  signor.  Oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  I  never  thought  of 
that.      {Crosses.) 

Gray,  {imitating hiin).  That's  because  in  your  Italian 
head  the  ideas  go  tick-tack,  tick-tack,  tick-tack  {slowly)  ; 
while  in  an  English  head  they  go  tick-tack,  tick-tack,  tick» 
tack.     (  Very  quickly. ) 

Pesc.     {laughing).     E  vero,  signor !     Evero! 


22  A    KETTLE   OF    FISH. 

Gray.  So  you  had  better  go  to  Nahant  at  once.  It  is 
nearly  one  now. 

Pesc  .  I  will  make  my  adieux  to  the  ladies .  (  Tries  to  cross 
to  R.) 

Gray.  You'll  have  no  time,  as  the  express  leaves  at  1.50. 
Here,  take  your  hat ;  ban  voyage.      (^Pushes  him  up.) 

Pesc.     But  — 

Gray.     The  deuce  !     Too  late  ! 

{Enter  Rosa,  r.  2  e.) 

Rosa.     Ah,  signor,  have  you  returned? 

Gray.  Pray  don't  detain  Signor  Pescatori ;  he's  just  try- 
ing to  catch  a  train. 

Rosa.  Are  you  going  back  to  Nahant,  still  looking  for  the 
original  of  No.  728  ? 

Pesc.     Si,  signorina,  if  you  could  assist  me  — 

Rosa,     The  Prince  seems  impatient  — 

Gray.  Miss  Rosa,  I  think  your  mamma  was  calling  for 
you. 

Rosa.  Mamma?  Please  excuse  me,  I  will  return  di- 
rectly.    (^Exit,  R.  2  E.) 

Gray,  {aside).  Thank  Heaven.  {To  Pescatori) 
You're  saved.  Go  to  the  station  at  once,  and  you  may  catch 
the  train  —  it  leaves  at  1.30. 

Pesc.  Madonna  !  Then  I  must  make  haste.  A  rivederci, 
Signor !  I  telegraph  to  the  Prince  that  I  am  on  the  right 
track.  Oh,  what  a  head  I  have!  A  rivederci,  Signor  —  a 
rivederci.      {Exit,  R,  3  E.) 

Gray.  At  last.  It  was  high  time.  And  I  have  fallen  in 
love  with  such  a  good-for-nothing,  darling  little  witch  !  And 
yet  I'lu  sure  her  coquetry  is  only  an  additional  charm  ;  to  vie 
at  all  events.  The  pursuit  of  this  Prince  will,  I  fear,  dazzle 
her  till,  like  a  child  staring  at  the  sun,  when  she  turns  to  me 
she  will  see  nothing  but  a  black  speck.  And  not  such  a  bad 
speck  either,  if  she  would  only  be  content  without  a  title  — 
{Enter  Rosa  and  M.ai!T>,  r.  i  'E.,  followed  by  Paul.) 

Rosa.     Well,  is  the  Signor  gone  ? 

Gray.     Yes,  I  could  not  detain  him. 

Rosa.  Indeed,  you  seemed  very  anxious  to  get  rid  of 
him,  and  I  am  exceedingly  annoyed  at  your  interference. 

Gray.     But,  Miss  Rosa — 

Rosa.  Don't  speak  tome,  {Tttrns  upstage  away  from 
him.^ 


A   KETTLE  OF   FISH.  2$ 

{Enter  Mrs.  Salmon.) 

Mrs   S.     I  am  glad  to  find  you  here.     I  want  your  aid. 

Maud.     What  is  it,  mamma  .? 

Mrs.  S.  I  reckon  upon  your  assistance  as  well,  Mr. 
Grayling.     Where' s  your  father  ? 

Maud.     In  his  study,  writing. 

TvIrs,  S.  {crossing to  L.  i  E.).  I  hope  he  will  not  begin 
working  himself  too  much.  (^Knocking  at  door. )  Frederic, 
do  leave  off  one  minute. 

{^Enter  Salmon,  MS.  in  hand,  and  a  pen  in  his  mouth ; 
he  crosses  to  c.  of  stage.  ^ 

Salm.  What  do  you  want,  dear  ?  F  m  sorry  you  dis- 
turbed me.     I  had  just  got  an  original  idea. 

Rosa  {saucily^.  Really,  papa  ?  An  original  idea  ? 
Whose  ? 

Mrs.  S.  Frederic,  I  have  been  talking  to  the  Doctor, 
and  he  has  convinced  me  that  your  genius  is  cramped  here — 
that  it  needs  the  stimulus  of  a  great  city — in  fact,  that  we 
must  go  to  New  York. 

Salm.     {weakly^.     Hildegard! 

Mrs.  S.  It  is  necessary.  A  man  who  works  for  the 
public  should  live  in  public. 

Gray.  I  know  of  some  excellent  rooms  to  be  let  opposite 
mine.  AUow  me  to  assist  you  by  taking  the  apartments  for 
you. 

Paul  {to  Maud).  Shall  we  go  as  well  if  the  governor 
says  yes  ? 

Salm.  Well,  since  you  all  seem  so  determined,  and  the 
Doctor  so  strongly  recommends  it,  I  won't  hold  out.  F  m  so 
fond  of  country  life  and  quiet  myself —  But  mind,  it  must  be 
for  a  few  weeks  only. 

Mrs.  S.  Then  you  consent !  {Crosses  to  R.  i  E.  ;  rttshes 
towards  door  whence  Dr.  Pollock  made  his  exit.^  Come 
in,  Doctor,  you  can  read  the  .  poems  later  on.  It' s  all 
settled. 

{Enter  Dr.  Pollock  ;   he  crosses  to  c.  and  faces  Mr. 

Salmon.) 

Dr.  P.     Indeed!     {Aside.')     F  m  absolutely  starving ! 
Mrs.  S.     We  are  going  for  a  time  to  New  York.     {Soft 
music.) 


24  A   KETTLE   OF  FISH. 

Dr.  p.  I  congratulate  you.  (^Stands  on  chair  by  table, 
C.)  Ladies  and  Gentlemen,  —  This  marks  an  epoch  in 
modern  literature,  and  calls  for  a  few  remarks  from  me. 
Ladies  and  gentlemen,  could  Guttenburg,  when  he  invented 
the  art  of  printing,  have  known  that  — 

{^Enter  Minna,  3  e.  r.) 

MiN.     Luncheon's  on  the  table  ! 

(^Stays  at  door,  holding  it  open.^ 

Dr.  p.  At  last!  Permit  me,  Mrs.  Partridge — I  beg 
your  pardon,  Mrs.  Salmon,  of  course.  (^Bursting  with  joy 
at  the  announcement  of  luncheon,  makes  an  exaggerated  jump 
from  the  chair,  rushes  tip,  then  down  to  Mrs.  Salmon,  catches 
hold  of  her,  and  makes  for  r.  3  E. ;  Paul  and  MAXMi  follow, 
and  Grayling  and  Rosa  going  last ;  Minna  at  door.  Bus- 
iness, Rosa  and  Grayling  ;  Grayling  offers  his  artn  to 
Rosa  ;  she  coquettishly  refuses,  and  takes  her  father'^  s  arm  in 
an  affectionate  manner.') 

Curtain. 

{Not  too  quick,  as  music  swells.") 


ACT  IL 

Scene. — Handsomely  furnished    room;    gas  full  on    at 

commencement  of  Act;  Minna  discovered  as  the  curtain 

goes  up ;   she  is  singing  the  Nature   Waltz  fro?n   ' '  The 

Merry  War.''''  The  micsic,  which  takes  tip  curtain,  continues 

until  cue  marked  to  stop  same. 

Min.  {dancing  before  glass  r.,  and  trying  a  wreath  of 
flowers  in  her  hair) .  Oh,  what  a  lovely  waltz !  I  hope 
they'll  play  it  to-night.  Those  flowers  will  look  lovely.  I 
took  them  from  Miss  Rosie's  garden  hat.  What  can  it 
matter  whether  they  stay  in  her  wardrobe,  or  go  to  the  ball 
with  me  !  I  wonder  whether  the  missus  will  let  me  go.  I 
do  love  dancing,  and  these  New  York  men  dance  so  well  — 
{murmuring air)  —  smoothly  —  just  one  turn  more.  {Danc- 
itig  and  singing.  Enter  Pescatori,  L..  c,  back  ;  he  sees  her 
dancing,  becomes  enthusiastic,  and  dances  till  at  end  of  song, 
she  turns  and  falls  into  his  arms;  ballet  pose;  jumping 
away  from  him.)  Oh  !  what  do  you  want  ?  {Music  ceases 
here.) 


A   KETTLE   OF   FISH.  2$ 

Pesc.  Oh !  I  beg  pardon,  but-  if  I  see  a  pretty  girl 
dance  so,  tra-la-la,  my  feet  go  tra-la-la,  so,  too. 

MiN.     Oh,  you  are  too  old  for  such  tra-la-la  rubbish. 

Pesc.     Too  old  !     Oh,  oh  !  Vm  not  old  yet ;  I  — 

(^Enter  Mrs.  Salmon;  r.  i.  e;  Minna  retires,  c.  back.^ 

Mrs.  S.     Here  so  soon,  signor? 

Pesc.     Signora,  I  received  your  little  letter,  and  — 

Mrs.  S.  (r.  to  Minna)  .  Go  to  Miss  Rosa,  and  tell  her  I 
wish  to  see  her  at  once.  {Exit  Minna,  2  e.  r.)  I  pre- 
sume you  have  just  returned  from  Nahant  ? 

Pesc.     Si,  signora ;  but  I  have  found  out  nothing. 

Mrs.  S.  I  wrote  to  you  that  I  might,  perhaps,  furnish  you 
with  a  clue  to  the  original  of  the  portrait  No.  728. 

Pesc.     Oh,  signora  !  if  you  can  do  that  — 

Mrs.  S.  Perhaps  I  may,  but  I  am  not  quite  certain  at 
present.  I  should  like  to  talk  over  this  matter  with  you  in 
private. 

Pesc.  Oh,  signora !  you  have  my  whole  heart.  {Ges- 
ture.^    Look  through  it.     What  would  you  know? 

Mrs.  S.     Then,  if  you  would  follow  me.     {Going.^ 

Pesc.     Ma  si,  with  much  pleasure. 
{As  soon  as  her  back  is  turned,  he  recommences  waltz  step. ) 

Mrs.  S.  {turning).     You  spoke. 

Pesc.  {stopping  suddenly).  Prego,  signora,  prego. 
{Business  repeated',  exeunt,  R.  IE.) 

{Enter  Minna,  2  e.  r.,  with  a  cloak  over  her  arm  and  a 
pair  of  satin  shoes  in  her  hand. ) 

Min.     {speaking  off. )    Very  well,  miss.     PU  see  to  it. 
{Enter  Grayling,  c.  from  l.) 

Gray.     Minna,  wasn't  Signor  Pescatori  here  just  now? 

Min.     The  old  Italian?    Yes. 

Gray.     What  is  he  doing  here? 

Min.  I  don't  know ;  he's  with  old  missus  now.  He 
danced  with  me  and  called  it  tra-la-la-ing.  {Places  herself 
in  ballet  pose  with  shoes  over  her  liead. ) 

Gray,     {pointing  to  shoes) .     What  have  you  got  there  ? 

Min.  {latighitig) .  Shoes  !  W^hy  those  are  Miss  Rosie's 
shoes. 

Gray.  Ah !  Indeed  !  What  charming  shoes.  Will  you 
tell  Miss  Rosa  I  should  like  to  see  her  ! 

Min.     Yes,  sir.     I'll  tell  her  at  once. 


26  A  KETTLE  OF  FISH. 

Gray.  Very  good.  {Giving  money .^  Add  this  to  youi 
collection  of  coins.  (^As  he  gives  money  he  touches  the  shoe.y 
They  really  are  sweet  little  shoes. 

MiN.     Well,  I  declare.     (^Goes  off  laughing,  R.  2  E.) 

Gray.  I  wonder  if  she's  laughing  at  me.  Well,  Pm  ridiC' 
ulously  in  love  with  this  little  coquette,  and  whafs  more  ab^ 
surd,  I've  no  idea  what  her  views  on  the  subject  are.  I  have 
not  had  a  minute  alone  with  her  since  she's  been  in  New 
York.  I  do  nothing  but  stand  at  my  window  and  look  over 
at  hers.  Now  that  this  meddling  Italian  has  come  back  1 
must  see  Rosa,  and  declare  myself  before  he  has  a  chance  to 
meet  her. 

{Enter  Rosa,  r.  2.  e.,  back.^ 

Rosa.     How  are  you,  Mr.  Grayling? 

Gray.  I've  come  to  beg  a  few  minutes  serious  conversa^ 
tion  with  you. 

Rosa.     Well,  I  ought  to  go  to  mamma  at  once,  but  — 

Gray.  I  should  be  extremely  obliged  if  you  would  give 
me  the  preference.  I've  been  seeking  this  interview  for  the 
last  two  days. 

Rosa  {aside').     So  have  I. 

Gray.  I  have  something  to  tell  you  that  you  alone  must 
hear. 

Rosa.  Indeed  !  {Aside.)  Now  he'll  find  out  if  he  can 
get  the  treasure  he  wanted. 

Gray.     Well,  then,  my  dear  Miss  Rosa  — 

Rosa.  Apropos,  do  you  know  that  Signor  Pescatori  has 
returned  ? 

Gray.  Indeed!  {Aside.)  I  wish  I  had  sent  him  to  Eu- 
rope. 

Rosa.     Perhaps  you  know  Prince  Topolski? 

Gray.  I  only  know  he  is  an  enthusiastic  sportsman,  and 
thinks  of  nothing  but  dogs  and  horses.  But  to  return  to 
my  — 

Rosa.  One  moment ;  can  you  tell  me  what  position  the 
wife  of  a  prince  would  hold  at  Court  ? 

Gray.     Are  you  so  deeply  interested  in  the  Prince  ? 

Rosa.  Can't  you  understand  my  interest  ?  In  these  prosaic 
days  the  whole  story  sounds  like  a  fairy  tale.  The  Prince  falls 
in"  love  with  a  girl's  picture.  He  knows  nothing  ot  the  girl, 
but  he  loves  her.  He  does  not  try  to  find  out  who  she  is,  or 
what  her  defects  are.  He  sends  out  his  messenger,  and  when 
the  lucky  girl  is  found  — 


A  •  KETTLE    OF   FISH.  2/ 

Gray.     Lucky !  Then  you  think  the  young  lady  is  fortunate  ? 

Rosa.     To  be  the  wife  of  a  millionaire  prince,  certainly. 

Gray.  But  if  you  know  nothing  more  of  this  man  than  his 
pedigree  and  rent-roll,  it  seems  to  me  that  the  chief  element 
of  happiness  is  wanting. 

Rosa.     That  is  — 

Gray,  {with  feeling) .  That  without  which  there  can  be 
no  true  happiness  —  Love. 

Rosa,  (laughing) .  Oh,  Love  ! — excuse  me,  I  know  nothing 
whatever  about  it.  I've  read  a  great  deal  about  it,  and  it's  very 
charming  in  novels  and  plays.  But  what  little  I've  seen  in 
real  life  appeared  utterly  nonsensical. 

Gray.     But,  Miss  Rosa — 

Rosa.  I  think  gentlemen  are  apt  to  set  too  high  a  value  on 
their  love.  They  take  things  too  easily.  They  merely  say,  I 
love  you,  and  expect  a  woman  to  give  up  home  and  friends, 
and  throw  herself  at  their  feet.  (^Quietly.)  But  you  had  some- 
thing to  say  to  me  ? 

Gray.     I!  — I! 

Rosa  {impatiently) .     You  said  so  just  now. 

Gray,  {bitterly) .  Oh,  yes  !  But  never  mind  that,  Miss 
Rosa ;   I  have  no  more  to  say. 

Rosa  {piqued).    Oh,  indeed!   then  I  may  go,  I  presume! 

Gray.     Oh,  no  — 

Rosa.  Oh,  don't  apologize.  If  you  were  rude  I've  no  doubt 
it  was  my  fault.     I'll  take  care  it  sha'n't  occur  again.    {Going. ) 

Gray.     I  beg  you  not  to  leave  me  now.    You  must  hear  me. 

Rosa.  Excuse  me,  sir,  I  neither  must  nor  will  hear  you, 
not  now,  nor  at  any  time.     Adieu.     {Exii,  R.  i  E.) 

Gray.  Well,  that's  pretty  plain !  But  I  need  not  be  sur- 
prised that  she  prefers  a  title  and  desires  riches.  It's  quite 
natural,  human  nature  all  over.  {Suddenly  bursting  out. )  No, 
by  Jove,  it's  not  natural  to  encourage  a  poor  fellow  till  he  be- 
lieves her  an  angel,  and  then  to  interrupt  him  with  questions 
on  court  etiquette  and  rent-rolls  is  inhuman  !  How  infernally 
hard  it  is  to  be  in  love,  and  yet  retain  one's  common-sense. 
{Enter  Mrs.  Salmon,  r.  i  e.) 

Mrs.  S.     I've  only  just  heard  that  you  called. 

Gray.  I  won't  detain  you,  madam.  I  hear  you  have  an- 
other visitor  —  Signor  Pescatori.     (  Going. ) 

Mrs.  S.  Oh,  he's  gone.  Please  don't  go.  I've  been  wish- 
ing for  a  chance  to  tell  you  how  much  we're  indebted  to  you. 


28  A    KETTLE    OF    FISH. 

Gray.     But,  madam  — 

Mrs.  S.  I  really  mean  it.  (Si^s  on  settee,  L.  c.)  Had  it 
not  been  for  you,  we  should  never  have  come  to  New  York. 

Gray.  And  may  I  hope  that  New  York  life  fulfils  your 
expectations  ? 

Mrs.  S.     To  speak  plainly  —  not  quite. 

Gray.     Indeed  ! 

(^Enter  Minna,  r.  2  e.,  with  two  candelabra  unlig/ited, 
which  she  places  on  t/iantelpiece ;  she  lays  some  letters, 
^r^c,  on  table,  R.c.) 

Mrs.  S.  {continuijig) .  It's  a  great  advantage,  as  far  as  my 
husband's  literary  work  is  concerned.  But  I  am  not  accus- 
tomed to  being  so  much  alone.  My  daughter  and  her  husband 
are  out  the  entire  day.  My  husband  never  gets  up  till  midday, 
and  no  wonder,  for  he  insists  on  working  all  night  with  the 
Doctor. 

Gray.  I've  often  noticed  from  my  window  opposite  that 
his  lamp  is  burning  till  a  very  late  hour 

MiN.     Good  gracious,  the  lamp  ! 

Mrs.  S.     What's  the  matter? 

MiN.  I  took  master's  lamp  to  be  repaired  yesterday  morning, 
and  I've  forgotten  to  bring  it  back. 

Mrs.  S.  Then,  Minna,  your  forgetfulness  must  have  wasted 
your  master's  whole  evening. 

MiN.  I'm  so  sorry,  ma'am.  I'll  go  for  it  at  once.  {Exit,  l.c.  ) 

Mrs.  S.  That's  the  reason  he's  been  cross  this  morninjr  — 
he  said  nothing,  but  I  could  see  that  there  was  something 
wrong. 

{Enter  Mr.  Salmon,  a  pen  behind  each  ear  and  one  in  his 
hand;  Grayling,  l.  2  e.  ;  moves  at  back  to  r.) 

Salm.  Hildegard,  is  the  post  come  in  yet?  Oh,  how 
d'ye  do.  Grayling? 

Mrs.  S.  (going  to  table).  Here  it  is,  dear !  (Soothingly.)  Do 
you  still  feel  put  out,  dear? 

Salm.  Put  out !  Of  course  I'm  put  out.  The  fact  is  I'm 
overworked,  this  writing  wearies  me.      (Crosses  to  L.c.) 

Mrs.  S.     But  you  were  not  writing  last  night. 

Salm.  Yes,  I  was,  on  my  society  novel.  (Sits  on  settee. ) 
Do  you  know,  sir,  it's  strange,  but  I  do  my  best  work  at  night. 
When  all  around  is  still,  the  household  sleeps,  I  go  on  adding 
chapter  to  chapter. 


A   KETTLE   OF    FISH.  29 

Gray.  By  the  light  of  your  solitary  taper,  like  Tasso  in  his 
dungeon. 

Salm.     Taper !     No,  I  always  use  a  reading-lamp. 

Mrs.  S.     Frederic,  did  you  use  a  lamp  last  night  ? 

Salm.  Of  course  I  did !  Why  not  ?  {Rises  atid 
crosses,  r.) 

Mrs.  S.     Frederic!     (^Looks  at  hitn  sternly.^ 

Gray,    (c.,  behind  iable^.    That  lamp's  going  to  explode. 

{Exit,  L.  c.) 

Salm.     Why,  what's  the  matter  with  you  ? 

Mrs.  S.     Your  lamp  was  sent  to  be  repaired  two  days  ago. 

Salm.     {sinking  in  chair,  R.).     Great  heavens  ! 

Mrs.  S.  Then  you've  been  deceiving  me.  Oh,  how 
could  you  ?     {Sits  l.  c.  on  settee  and  cries.) 

Salm.     But,  my  darling,  let  me  explain. 

Mrs.  S.  Yes,  you  must  explain  where  you've  been  all 
night !     I  don't  believe  last  night  was  the  first  that  — 

Salm.     My  darling,  the  Doctor  — 

Mrs.  S.  Oh,  this  is  cniel.  Every  evening  I  lit  your  lamp 
and  kept  the  whole  house  quiet  for  fear  of  disturbing  3'ou. 
In  the  middle  of  the  night,  as  I  lay  awake,  I  pictured  )'ou, 
steadily  pursuing  the  path  of  fame,  and  toiling  in  your  room, 
and  you  were  not  there.  Frederic  {Rises  and  goes  to  him.), 
where  were  j-ou? 

Salm.  I  was  out  with  the  Doctor.  Why  on  earth  can't 
you  listen  to  me  ? 

Mrs.  S.     I  utterly  refiise  to  listen  to  you.   {Crosses,  l.) 
{Enter  Dr.  Pollock,  l.  c.) 

Dr.  p.     May  I  come  in?     Ah,  at  work  as  usual ! 

Salm.  Yes,  hard  at  it.  {Aside  to  Dr.  Pollock.)  Thank 
goodness  you've  come,     (r.) 

Mrs.  S.     You're  just  in  time.  Doctor,      (l.) 

Salm.     My  wife  won't  believe  — 

Mrs.  S.     I've  made  a  wonderful  discovery. 

Dr.  p.     I  don't  quite  understand,     (c.) 

Salm.  My  lamp  was  being  repaired  last  night.  {Aside  to 
Dr.  Pollock.) 

Mrs.  S.     I  want  to  know  what  you  call  literary  activity? 

Dr.  P.     {aside;  to  Mr.  Salmon).     Then  she  knows  all? 

Mrs.  S.      Where  were  you  and  my  husband  last  night? 

Dr.  p.  {innocently).  Madam,  I  don't  understand  your 
excitement.     We  were  at  work. 


30  A    KETTLE    OF    FISH. 

Mrs.  S.     By  the  light  of  his  reading-lamp,  eh? 

Dr.  p.  Madam,  do  you  imagine  that  a  poet's  work  is  done 
entirely  at  the  desk  ?  That  is  the  least  and  lightest  part  of 
his  labors.  He  must  make  studies  of  real  life,  collect  and 
arrange  types  of  character. 

Mrs.  S.      But  —  at  night. 

Dr.  p.  Certainly  at  night ;  your  husband  is  planning  a 
society  novel,  how  can  he  draw  character  without  seeing  it, 
how  depict  crime  without  studjdng  it? 

Salm.     You  see,  darling,  you  see. 

Dr.  p.  The  dark  side  of  life  cannot  be  observed  by  day, 
look  at  Dickens. 

Salm.     Yes,  darling,  look  at  Dickens,  another  one  of  us. 

Dr.  p.  Disguised  as  a  sailor  he  wandered  through  the 
slums  of  London,  never  came  home  for  days. 

Salm.     For  days  — 

Mrs.  S.     Good  gracious  ! 

Salm.     And  do  you  think  he  asked  his  wife's  permission? 

Mrs.  S.  {crossing  K.').  But,  Frederic,  think  of  your  health. 
There  must  be  a  good  deal  of  drinking  in  such  resorts  and  — 

Dr.  p.  O  !  I  look  after  him,  madam.  I  drink  for  both, 
and  he  keeps  his  head  clear,  I  carouse  —  he  takes  notes. 

Mrs.  S.  But  why  not  have  told  me  before  ?  Why  deceive 
me? 

Dr.  p.     a  true  poet  loves  mystery, 

Salm.     I  didn't  wish  to  make  you  anxious,  dearest  — 

Dr.  p.     Yes,  yes,  that  was  ever  his  first  thought. 

Salm.     Now,  darling,  be  reasonable. 

Mrs.  S.     Yes,  but  — 

Salm.  It's  all  over  now.  Pve  collected  enough  material, 
and  now  I  will  stay  at  home,  it's  all  right  now,  Hildy  dear. 

Mrs.  S.  I  begin  to  think  it  would  have  been  better  if  we 
had  never  come  to  New  York. 

Salm.     There,  there,  dear !     Now  go  and  dry  your  eyes. 
{Exit  Mrs.  Salmon,  r.  i  e.  ;  business  with  Salmon  be- 
fore Mrs.  S.  exits.') 

Salm.  (r.)  Doctor,  that  was  rather  an  unpleasant  ex- 
perience ? 

Dr.  p.     (l.)     And  that  is  not  our  only  misfortune  ! 

Salm.     Why,  what's  the  matter? 

Dr.  p.  I've  just  received  a  note  from  the  printer  telling  me 
that  unless  his  bill  is  paid,  the  ' '  Fragrant  Leaflets  "  must  stop. 


A   KETTLE   OF   PISH.  31 

That  this  should  have  happened  just  now,  when  each  number 
has  an  increasing  circulation,  is  too  bad.  Your  Epic  was  to 
have  appeared  in  the  next  number. 

Salm.     Well,  what's  to  be  done? 

Dr.  p.     It's  very  simple  —  the  magazine  must  stop. 

Salm.     And  my  great  Epic  ? 

Dr.  p.     You  must  get  another  publisher  for  it. 

Salm.  No,  no ;  that  won't  do  at  all.  How  much  do  you 
want? 

Dr.  p.  a  trifle,  hardly  worth  mentioning,  a  miserable  little 
three  hundred  dollars. 

Salm.  Three  hundred  dollars  !  ( Crosses  l.)  Well,  well, 
you  shall  have  the  money.  (Dr.  Pollock  crosses  to  r.  corner, 
sinks  into  chair,  R, ;  business S) 

Dr.  p.     No,  sir,  never.     I  will  not  touch  it. 

Salm.  Nonsense,  it's  hardly  worth  talking  about.  The 
"  Fragrant  Leaflets  "  must  not  stop,  if  only  for  my  wife's  sake. 
She's  so  delighted  when  she  sees  anything  of  mine  in  print. 

Dr.  p.  (rises,  and  going  c).  Sir,  you've  a  great  heart. 
(^Seizes  Mr.  Salmon's  hand .) 

Salm.  Well,  and  on  my  own  account  I  want  to  make  a  hit 
soon ;  but  do  you  know.  Doctor,  Pm  afraid  novel-writing 
is  not  my  strong  point. 

Dr.  p.     What  makes  you  think  that? 

Salm.  I  find  it  so  hard  to  work  ouX  my  plots.  Collecting 
material  is  pleasant  enough,  eh  !  so  I  think  that  the  drama  — 
By  the  way,  how's  my  tragedy  getting  on? 

Dr.  p.  I  will  print  some  scenes  from  "  Charles  the  First " 
in  the  next  number  of  the  magazine.  You'll  see  what  a  sen- 
sation it  will  make.  The  very  managers  who  refused  to  look 
at  the  piece  now  will  beg  you  to  let  them  produce  it. 

Salm.     What  can  the  managers  have  to  do  with  their  time  ? 

Dr.  p.  Talking  about  theatres  reminds  me  you've  been 
wishing  some  time  to  go  behind  the  scenes,  in  order  to  study 
the  stage  practically. 

Salm.     Yes,  yes  ;  of  course,  when  a  man  is  writing  plays. 

Dr.  p.  Well,  you  can  go  on  the  stage  of  the  opera  to- 
night. 

Salm.     How  can  you  manage  that? 

Dr.  P.  A  grand  (5a/ ^wj-^?^/ takes  place;  go  as  Sophocles, 
he  wrote  plays  as  you  do ;  the  ballet  is  sure  to  be  well  repre- 
sented there,  and  you  can  see  for  yourself  the  requirements  of 
stage  characters. 


32  A    KETTLE   OF    FISH. 

Salm.  Sophocles  and  the  ballet?  Strange  mixture,  eh, 
Doctor? 

Dr.  p.  You  are  wrong  there.  The  ancient  Greeks  were 
great  admirers  of  beauty,  if  somewhat  unadorned. 

Salm.     But  how  about /«/ dress? 

Dr  p.  The  costumer  who  sells  the  tickets  will  provide 
the  dress. 

Salm.     Splendid —  but  my  wife. 

Dr.  p.  You'd  better  have  a  headache  and  go  to  your 
room,  and  while  I  engage  your  wife  in  conversation  you  can 
get  away. 

Salm.  Doctor,  you  are,  mdeed,  a  friend.  Hush  !  here 
come  the  children.  (^Exeunt  Dr.  Pollock  atid  Mr.  Salmon. 
L.  2  E.  Busmess.  Enter 'Pxvz.  and  MAXsnift  evening  dress, 
L.  c.) 

Maud  {speaking  off^.  Thank  goodness,  we're  at  home 
again,  I'm  tired  to  death.  {Taking  off  cloak  and  sits  on 
settee,  L.  c.     Paul  takes  cloak  to  chair.  ^ 

Paul.     How"s  that,  dear,  we're  not  doing  too  much? 

Maud.  What  do  you  call  to-day's  dissipation?  A  drive 
in  the  park.  Lunch  at  Delmonico's.  A  matinee  at  the 
Lyceum.    Dinner  at  the  Brunswick.     Pm  completely  tired  out. 

Paul.  Well,  Maud  dear,  go  and  lie  down  for  half  an  hour, 
and  then  you'll  be  quite  fresh  for  the  theatre. 

Maud.     Must  we  go  to  the  theatre  to-night? 

Paul.  Yes,  dear,  we  must  go,  Pve  taken  a  box.  Miss 
Fotheringay  is  going  to  appear  in  two  of  her  best  parts.  They 
gave  me  this  bill  at  the  theatre.  {Producing  play-bill.^ 
Fotheringay  plays  the  "•  Dumb  Girl,"  and  "  Come  Here."  In 
the  first  piece  she  doesn't  speak  a  word,  and  the  other  is  a 
monologue,  and  she  talks  for  half  an  hour  without  stopping, 
and  so  makes  up  for  lost  time.     That  will  be  very  interesting. 

Maud.  I  daresay  it  will,  Paul,  but  Pm  really  too  tired  to 
go.     Can't  we  spend  one  evening  quietly  at  home  ? 

Paul,  My  dear  Maud,  we  didn't  come  to  New  York  to 
spend  our  evenings  quietly  at  home,      {Places  billon  sofa.^ 

Maud,  Paul,  I  hardly  know  you  now.  Since  we've  been 
here  you've  become  so  gay  — 

Paul.     Yes,  darling,  it's  the  New  York  air  — 

Maud.  But  you  are  overdoing  it.  Come,  sit  down  here, 
while  I  lecture  you. 

Paul.     Oh,  dear.     {He  sits  l.  of  settee.) 


A   KETTLE   OF   FISH.  33 

{Enter  Mr.  Salmon  an^  Dr.  Pollock,  l.  2  e.) 

Salm.  (l.,  giving  cheque).  There,  that  will  satisfy  the 
printer,  Doctor.  I'm  going  to  have  some  new  visiting  cards 
printed.  What  would  you  advise  me  to  put  under  my  name? 
"Dramatic  Poet,"  or  "Author,"  or  — 

Dr.  p.  ril  tell  you  what  to  put —  "  Man  of  Letters  "  ;  it 
sounds  well,  and  doesn't  mean  much.     {Crosses,  R.) 

V AMI.  {coming forward).  Ah,  guv'nor,  how  are  you?  I'm 
afraid  you're  overworking  yourself,  you  look  rather  seedy. 
Why  not  go  to  the  theatre  ?  At  Niblo's  they  are  playing  ' '  The 
Stranger."  It  would  be  a  pleasant  change,  and  liven  you 
up  a  bit. 

Salm.  No  !  no  !  Pm  not  working  at  present ;  I've  got  such 
an  awful  headache.  Oh!  oh!  {Groans.)  Such  a  hammering 
in  my  head.     I  shall  go  mad. 

Maud.     Poor,  dear  papa !     {Rises  and  goes  to  him.) 

Salm.     Don't  pity  me  ;  go  and  fetch  your  mother. 

Maud.  I  will ;  and  I'll  go  and  fetch  some  eau-de-Cologne 
for  your  head. 

{Exit  Maud,  r.  i  e.  ;  Dr.  Pollock  crosses-back,  r.) 

Paul.     I'm  awfully  sorry  for  your  head. 

Salm.  Hush  !  don't  condemn  me  unheard.  It's  only  a 
little  stratagem,  so  that  I  can  get  out  unnoticed  to-night. 

Paul.     But,  sir ! 

Salm.  What  do  you  mean  by  "  But  sir  "  ?  Dickens  did 
it.     They  all  do  it  now. 

Paul     (c).     And  where  are  you  going  ? 

Salm.  (l.).  Oh,  it's  innocent  enough  ;  the  Doctor  and 
I  are  going  — 

Dr.  p.     To  a  bal  masque  ?l\.  the  opera  house. 

Salm.  I'm  going  as  Sophocles,  and  you  can  stay  at 
home  and  look  after  your  mother-in-law. 

Paul     {sternly).     No,  I  can't  do  it. 

Salm.     My  dear  Paul ! 

Paul.  I  don't  think  it  right,  and  I  will  not  help  you  — 
on  the  contrary,  I'll  — 

Salm.     You'll  betray  me  ! 

Paul.     No  sir,  I'll  go  with  you. 

Salm.     What  ? 

Paul.  Calm  yourself.  I'  11  go  with  you.  Why  deprive 
me  of  such  a  piece  of  fun  ?  Don' t  you  agree  with  me. 
Doctor  ?    I  dare  say  you  can  manage  to  take  me  too. 


34  A   KETTLE   OF   FISH. 

Dr.  p.  You  can  take  my  place  if  you  like.  I  was  going 
as  a  conspirator. 

Paul.  A  conspirator!  that's  just  in  my  line!  Pm  a 
first-class  conspirator.  I  believe  it  requires  the  cloak  held 
so,  and  a  slouch  hat,  and  — 

(^Gesticulates,  till  Mrs.  Salmon  enters,  then  stops  suddenly. 
Enter  Mrs.  S.,  r.  i  e.     Paul  darts  up,  R.) 

Dr.  p.     He' s  a  born  conspirator. 

Mrs.  S.  My  dear  Frederic,  Maud  just  told  me  {crossing 
L.)  that  you  have  a  terrible  headache. 

Salm.  (l.).  Of  course,  Pve  got  a  headache.  I  always 
have  when  P  m  put  out. 

Mrs.  S.     But,  Frederic,  it's  not  my  fault. 

Salm.  Who  said  it  was  ?  {Groaning.^  Oh!  oh!  this 
hammering  in  my  head. 

{Enter  Minna,  r.  2  e.,  with  two  ha?idkerchiefs  and  eau- 
de-Cologne,  which  she  puts  on  table,  c,  tfien  exit.^ 

Mrs.  S.  Well,  try  and  bear  it.  Pll  put  some  eau-de- 
Cologne  on  this  handkerchief  for  you. 

Salm.     That  won' t  do  me  any  good. 

Paul  {up  stage  ;  has  been  gesticulating ;  suddenly 
breaks  out  very  lotid) .     Oh  !  oh  !  oh  ! 

Mrs.  S.  Why,  what's  the  matter  with  you  ?  Have  you 
a  headache  ? 

Paul.  Yes,  ever  since  dinner,  and  it's  growing  worse 
every  minute. 

Salm.     Oh,  such  pains  at  the  back  of  my  head  !     Oh  !  oh  ! 

Paul.     Mine' s  in  front.     Oh  !  oh  ! 

Mrs.  S.      {with  bandage').     Let  me  put  this  on. 

Salm.  Oh,  no,  that  won' t  do  me  any  good.  {She  puts 
it  on.') 

Dr.  p.  {who  has  been  arranging  a  band  for  Paul). 
Let  me  advise  you  to  go  to  your  room,  and  rest  quietly  for 
an  hour  or  two. 

Mrs.  S.     Yes,  Frederic,  do  try  it. 

Salm.     I  will.     Rest  always  does  me  good. 

Paul.  And  P 11  go  with  you,  you  can  let  me  have  the 
arm-chair.     Oh  !  oh  ! 

Salm.  Well,  come  along,  but  no  one  else  must  come 
near  us.  You  hear,  Hildegard,  no  one  must  disturb  us. 
{Going.)     Oh  !  oh  !  oh  !     What  pain. 

{Exit,  L.  2  E.,  with  Paul.J 


A    KETTLE    OF    FISH.  35 

Mrs.  S.  It' s  very  strange.  I  never  remember  Frederic 
having  such  a  headache  suddenly.  I  believe  I  ought  to  sit 
by  him  and  bathe  his  head.     (^Going,  L.) 

Dr.  p.  (l.  stopping  her).  One  moment,  madam.  I 
have  a  little  surprise  for  you. 

Mrs.  S.     I've  had  too  many  little  surprises  to-day. 

Dr.  p.  But  it's  something  pleasant  this  time.  The 
"  Rondels  of  a  Fiance  "  are  published.  All  the  booksellers 
will  have  them  to-morrow.     Here  is  a  specimen  copy. 

(^Taking  out  book  elegantly  bound.) 

Mrs.  S.  How  good  of  you,  my  dear  Doctor  ;  my  hus- 
band must  know  nothing  of  this. 

Dr.  p.     Not  a  syllable. 

Mrs.  S.     How  charming  the  binding  is  — 

Dr.  p.     Yes,  it  costs  a  little  more  than  I  expected. 

Mrs  S.  Oh,  I  don't  mind  the  cost.  (Aside.)  How  ex- 
quisite it  is  to  be  an  author's  wife.  (Reads  the  title  page.) 
"  Rondels  of  a  Fiance."  (Crosses,  r.) 

Dr.  p.  Madam,  an  instinct  warns  me  that  you  would  be 
alone  :    alone  with   that   volume.     I   will    take   my  leave ! 

(Going.) 
Mrs.  S.  Many,  many  thanks,  my  dear  Doctor,  I  hope- 
you  will  take  care  that  the  book  is  well  reviewed  and  criti 
cised. 

Dr.  p.  Criticised!  Madam,  pray  don't  mention  critics 
to  me.  There's  a  clique.  These  men  glance  through  a 
book,  and  write,  and  write,  and  write,  Heaven  knows  what. 
We  are  going  to  change  all  that.  The  authors  shall  criticise 
their  own  works.     Then  nobody  will  be  dissatisfied. 

(Business  and  exit  quickly,  L.  C.) 

Mrs.  S.  How  lovely  they  look  in  print,  and  how  many 
(crossing,  R . )  fond  recollections  these  lines  awaken.  (Reads. ) 
"Drink  to  me  only  with  thine  eyes,  and  I  will  pledge  with 
mine."  Lovely.  This  is  the  one  written  on  our  meeting 
one  evening  when  he  kissed  me  for  the  first  time.  (Reads. 
Enter  Minna,  l.  c,  with  a  lighted  lamp,  which  she  places 
on  table.)  What  a  surprise  for  Frederic  to-morrow  morning. 
I'  11  lay  it  on  his  plate  at  breakfast.     How  delighted  he'  11  be. 

MiN.  (hesitating).     I  want  to  ask  you,  ma'am  — 

Mrs.  S.   (r.).     Well. 

Mm.  (l.).  I've  been  asked  to  a  servant's  ball  to-night 
next  door,  and  —  and  I  want  to  know  if  you  will  let  me  go. 


^6  A    KETTLE    OF    FISH. 

{^Enter  Rosa,  r.  2.  e.  ;  she  looks  at  the  books  on  the  table.') 

Mrs.  S.  Minna,  what  are  you  thinking  of  to-day,  when 
your  master  is  so  ill?  If  anything  happened  and  I  wanted  to 
send  for  the  doctor — 

MiN.     But,  ma'am  — 

Mrs.  S.     You  can't  go.      Some  other  night  perhaps. 

{^Sits  chair  R.) 

MiN.     But  some  other  night  there  won't  be  a  ball. 

{Exit,  L.  c.) 

Mrs.  S.     What  are  you  doing,  Rosa? 

Rosa  (c,  back  of  table).  I  was  looking  for  something  to 
read.     {Shows  book.) 

{Enter  Maud,  r.  2  e.,  crosses  at  back  to  l.) 

Maud.     Where  is  Paul?     {A  letter  open  in  her  hand.) 

Mrs.  S.  He's  in  there  with  papa.  {Movement  for  Maud.  ) 
But  they're  not  to  be  disturbed,  they  have  both  got  dreadful 
headaches. 

Maud.  No  wonder  with  the  life  we've  been  leading. 
(  Coming  dowtt  c. )  Mamma,  Lobb  has  just  written  to  me  from 
home.  He  says  he  has  sent  eight  letters  to  Paul,  and  has 
received  no  answer,     (l.) 

Mrs.  S.  What  thoughtlessness  !  {Rises  and  crosses.)  It's 
inexcusable.  Did  not  I  tell  you  he  was  not  the  husband  for 
you,  but  you  would  not  listen  to  me.  When  Rosa  marries  I 
shall  have  more  to  say  in  the  matter. 

Rosa  (R.).     Mamma,  I'm  not  thinking  of  marriage. 

Mrs.  S.  That's  right,  darling —  leave  it  all  to  me.  {Mys- 
teriously.) Who  knows  but  that  I  may  soon  make  some 
arrangement  for  you. 

Rosa.     Mamma ! 

Mrs.  S.     Perhaps,  perhaps. 

{Enter  Minna,  l.  c.     Mavd  gets  to  settee,  l.) 

Min.     Signor  Pescatori  wants  to  know  — 

Mrs.  S.     Pescatori !  show  him  up  instantly. 

{Exit  Minna,  l.  c.) 

Rosa  {quickly).  Mamma,  has  Signor  Pescatori  anything 
to  do  with  this  arrangement? 

Mrs.  S.  {mysteriously).     Perhaps. 

Rosa.  Oh,  mamma,  please  don't  think  of  it.  I  couldn't 
—  I  really  couldn't.     {Exit  quickly,  R.  2  e.) 

Mrs.  S.     What  does  this  mean? 

{Enter  Pescatori,  l.  c.     Noise  of  rain  begins.) 


A    KETTLE    OP    FISH.  3/ 

Pesc.  Signora,  I  came  from  the  opera  house.  I  bring  you 
the  tickets  you  wished  for.     (  Giving  tickets. ) 

Mrs.  S.  For  to-morrow.  That's  really  very  kind  of  you. 
My  son-in-law  will  be  delighted. 

Pesc.     Ah  !  the  biglietti  are  for  the  Signor  Turbot. 

Mrs.  S.  (c).     Yes. 

Pesc.  (l.)-  Ah,  then  I  could  have  given  them  to  him  just 
now. 

Maud.     What  do  you  mean  ? 

Pesc.  Ma  si !  As  I  come  from  the  opera  I  call  on  my  old 
friend,  Bocchini.  He  kept  the  costumier  in  Union  Square.  I 
could  not  speak  to  him,  but  I  look  through  de  little  glass 
door,  and,  Dio  mio  !  I  see  the  Signor  Turbot.  He  wear  the 
dress  of  a  brigand  for  the  bal  masque  at  the  opera  to-night. 

Maud.  What,  my  husband  a  brigand  !  (^Upstage.  Getting 
excited. ) 

Pesc.  {aside').     Madonna,  I  have  made  a  little  mistake. 

Maud.  Fancy  my  husband  going  to  a  bal  masque.  This, 
then,  is  what  the  sudden  attack  of  headache  meant.  I  will  go 
and  bring  him  back  myself.      (  Crossing  at  back  towards  L.  2 . e. 

Mrs.  S.  {stopping  her) .  Maud,  such  a  man  should  not  be 
run  after,  he  is  to  be  despised. 

Maud  {coming  down  l.).  I  do  despise  him,  mamma,  but 
I  want  to  see  him  with  my  own  eyes.     {Takes  stage.) 

Mrs.  S.  I  tell  you  no,  Maud.  It  is  not  your  place.  PU 
send  your  father  after  him. 

Pesc.  Ah  !  that  is  all  right,  then,  for  the  Signor  {crossing 
C.)  Salmon  is  there,  too ;  he  is  a  Greek  old  man.    {Gesture.) 

Mrs.  S.     What!  My  husband  there  !     {Rings.)     Minna! 
Minna!     {Goes  back  r.  and  calls  out.)     My  cloak  and  hat. 
(Mrs.  Salmon  and  Maud  very  excited.     Rain  louder  i 
storm  begins.) 

Maud.     It's  scandalous ! 

Mrs.  S.  Signor  Pescatori,  escort  my  daughter  and  myself 
to  the  opera  house  instantly. 

Pesc.     But,  signora,  it  rains,  it  storms. 

{Enter  Minna,  r.  i  e.,  with  cloak  and  hat.) 

Mrs.  S.  {putting  on  cloak).  Signor  Pescatori,  you  are 
seeking  the  original  of  that  picture.  I  will  show  her  to  you 
to-morrow  if  you  will  take  us  to  the  bal  masque  "^t  once. 

Pesc.  Signora,  with  that  promise  you  can  twista  me  round 
your  finger.     {Gesture.) 


58  A   KETTLE   OF    FISH. 

Mrs.  S.    Then  let  us  go.   {Noise  of  storm  and  rain  louder.') 
Maud.     Come,  mamma,  come.     (^Exit,  L.  c.) 
Mrs.  S.     Follow  us,  signor.     {Exit,  L.  c.) 
Pesc.     Madonna !  there  will  be  an  unrehearsed  tableau  on 
that  stage  to-night.     (^Exit,  L.  c.) 

Min.  Well,  I  wonder  whafs  going  on  here?  Why  are 
they  rushing  to  the  theatre?  and  in  such  awful  weather.  Wait 
a  minute.  The  gentlemen  are  in  there,  Miss  Rosie's  in  there. 
I  can  just  slip  in  next  door  to  the  ball  for  a  few  minutes,  just 
to»  tell  my  young  man  that  I  can't  come.  But  when  I  am 
there  I  might  just  as  well  just  take  a  couple  of  turns,  they 
won't  be  back  in  time  to  catch  me. 

(Runs  off  singing.  Stage  empty  for  a  moment.  Noise 
of  storm  very  loud  at  first,  thtaider  decreasing  during 
following  scene.  Thujider  heard  distantly ;  lights  half 
down.     Enter  Rosa,  r.  2  e.,  with  a  lighted  candle.) 

Rosa.  I  wonder  where  I  left  that  book.  (Looking.)  I 
laid  it  here.  Ah,  there  it  is.  (Thunder.)  Oh  dear,  what 
a  stoiTTi,  it's  enough  to  make  anyone  frightened.  Goes  to 
window,  raises  blind  a  little  and  peeps  out.)  What  weather ! 
fancy  having  to  be  out  in  it !  He's  at  home !  at  least  there's  a 
light  in  his  room.  There  he  goes  walking  up  and  down. 
How  I  hate  a  man  that  does  nothing  but  walk  up  and  down 
like  a  Polar  bear  in  his  cage  !  He  comes  to  the  window ;  he 
looks  across.  (Angrily.)  What  does  he  mean  by  looking 
across?  (Ptdls  down  blind.)  There,  look  as  much  as  you 
please  now.  (Looking through  window.)  What  impertinence  ! 
He's  looking  still.  I  wonder  how  he'd  like  to  have  anyone 
looking  at  him?  (Ring  heard.)  There,  now  he  leaves  his 
window.  I  hope  he  didn't  see  me.  (Looking  across  i  ring 
again.)  He's  just  the  sort  of  a  man  to  think  I  was  looking 
at  him.  (Ringrepeated  several  limes  ;  storm  ceases.)  What 
are  they  ringing  about?  Is  Minna  deaf?  (Goes  up  and 
calls  off .)  Minna!  Minna!  She's  not  there.  (Ring  again.) 
Who  can  it  be?  Minna!  Minna!  (Ring again.  She  exits, 
L.  c,  and  re-enters  immediately  with  a  postman ;  he  remains 
at  the  door. ) 

Postman.     A  registered  letter  for  Mr.  Paul  Turbot. 

Rosa.     Oh,  yes.     Won't  you  come  in? 

Postman.  No,  thank  you,  miss,  I'm  dripping  like  a  sponge 
—  I'll  wait  here.     (Thunder  heard.) 

Rosa.     Very  well.    (Goes  to  door.)    Paul!  Paul!    (Opens 


A    KETTLE    OF   FISH.  39 

door  and  enters.')  No  one  here;  of  course  he's  in  papa's 
xooxa..  (^Looks  inMK.'LPiKKaa^  door.')  Minna!  {Calls  off, 
c.)  Paul!  Papa!  papa!  {Comes  doTvn.)  Where  can  they 
all  be?  {Goes  to 'M.KS.  hAKKms^  room.)  Mamma!  {Exits, 
calls  off. )  Mamma,  mamma !  where  are  you  ?  Is  no  one 
here  ?  {Re-enters. )  Good  gracious  !  There's  no  one  in  the 
house ! 

Postman.  Well,  miss  !  I  must  go  now.  Can't  you  sign 
for  him? 

Rosa  {rushing  tip  and  dragging  him  back) .  No,  no  !  You 
must  not  go.     I  can't  stay  here  all  alone  ! 

Postman.     But  — 

Rosa.  Please  —  please  don't  leave  me.  I  shall  die  of 
fright! 

Postman.  There,  there,  there,  its  not  so  bad.  {Clap  of 
thunder  heard. ) 

Rosa  {rushing  to  Postman  and  clinging  to  him).  Oh,  oh! 
I  can't  let  you  go.     You  must  stay  here  ! 

Postman  {taking  her  hands  and  wiping  thejn  with  his 
handkerchief).  There,  there.  I'm  sorry  for  you,  but  I  can't 
stay. 

Rosa.  But  what  am  I  to  do?  I  can't  go  out  into  the 
streets  at  this  time  of  night. 

Postman.     Is  there  no  one  you  can  call  in,  miss  ? 

Rosa.     Not  a  soul. 

Postman.     None  of  the  neighbors  ? 

Rosa.  Of  the  neighbors  —  no.  {Looking  at  window.) 
Yes !  he  —  he's  the  only  person  I  can  call  in,  and  I'm  sure 
he'd  come.  Mr.  Grayling,  I  mean.  He  lives  right  opposite. 
If  I  ask  him  he'll  come. 

Postman.     Til  go  and  tell  him.     {Going off .) 

Rosa  {stopping  him).  No,  no.  I  can't  be  left  alone  so 
long !  No,  rU  tell  you  what  will  do.  You  light  all  these  can- 
dles. {Pointing  to  mantel-piece.  VoST^Xii  lights  all  the  can- 
dles in  candelabra  and  brings  them,  down  to  table  by  window, 
where  he  places  them.  Lights  full  on.)  I  wonder  I  didn't 
think  of  him  before.  He's  so  good,  so  noble  and  kind. 
{Pulling  blind  up. )  Here,  put  all  the  lights  on  the  window- 
ledge  —  he's  sure  to  notice  that,  there  —  there  —  stand  here 
and  beckon  so  —  see,  like  that.  {Pushes  Postman  to  window. ) 
You  must  take  something  in  your  hand ;  something  white ; 
this  will  do.     {Picks  up  play-bill  so  thai  "  Come  here''''  is 


40  A    KETTLE    OF    FISH. 

seen.)     That's  capital — "Come    here"  —  he'll   understand 
that. 

Postman.     There's  someone  at  the  window. 

Rosa.  Where  1  Yes  —  yes,  it's  he  !  now  wait  a  minute. 
Now.  {Holds  up  bill.)  I'm  sure  he'll  see  that.  Yes,  he 
nods  his  head,  he's  coming. 

Postman  {blows  out  aud  replaces  candelabra  in  their  orig- 
inal places).     Then  I  suppose  I  can  go  now.-" 

Rosa.  Oh  yes,  you  can  go  now.  I'm  not  a  bit  frightened 
now  he's  coming.  {Gives  money.)  I'm  very  much  obliged 
for  your  kindness. 

Postman.  Thank  you,  miss,  that's  nothing,  no  thanks, 
I  couldn't  leave  you  all  alone.  Good  evening,  miss.  {Ring 
heard.)     I'll  go  and  let  him  in.      {Exit,  L.  C.) 

Rosa.  But  what  can  I  tell  him  ?  I  can't  tell  him  that  I 
was  frightened,  like  a  baby.  It's  terrible  to  be  alone  with 
him  so  late.  He's  coming  up.  What  am  I  to  do?  {Looks 
around,  sees  door  <?/"  Mrs.  Salmon's  rootn.)  Ah!  that  will 
do.  {Goes  to  door  and  holds  it  open  about  a  foot.  Enter 
Grayling,  l.c.) 

Gray.     Did  I  understand  you.  Miss  Rosa  ?  You  called  me. 

Rosa  {at  door).     Hush  !  not  so  loud.  Mamma  — 

Gray.    What ! 

Rosa.  She's  in  there,  lying  down  on  the  sofa ;  she's  got 
a  terrible  headache. 

Gray.      I'm  very  sorry  to  hear  it. 

Rosa.  Mamma,  dear.  {Speaking  off,  Vi.  IE.)  Mr.  Gray- 
ling is  here.  {Going  to  him.)  Please  excuse  my  sending  for 
you,  but  I  was  so  nervous.  I  really  did  not  know  what  to  do. 
Mamma  and  I  are  quite  alone  in  the  house.  I  sent  the  ser- 
vant to  the  chemist,  and  if  mamma  got  worse  some  one  would 
have  to  go  for  a  doctor.  Mamma  was  afraid  you  would  be 
angry. 

Gray,  {goes  to  door  of 's..  i  e.  and  speaks  without  looking 
off) .     Madam,  pray  make  any  use  of  me  you  can. 

Rosa  {getting  between  him  and  the  door) .  Yes ;  and  then 
I  thought  of  our  little  disagreement  this  afternoon. 

Gray.     Oh,  let's  forget  it.      {Offers  hand.) 

Rosa  {takes  it) .  Agreed.  {Loud.)  Mamma  and  I  are 
very  much  obliged  to  you  for  coming. 

Gray,  {crossing  to  door,  R.  l  e.).  I'm  very  sorry,  madam, 
that  you  are  so  unwell. 


A    KETTLE   OF   FISH.  41 

Rosa  (Jakes  Grayling's  artn  and  leads  him  away').  Oh  ! 
don't  speak  so  loud.  Mamma  has  a  headache.  {Going  io 
table.')     See  here's  the  bandage  for  her  head.      {Sits.) 

Gray,  {going  to  her) .  Let  me  help  you  !  I'm  a  very  good 
nurse. 

Rosa.     Indeed ! 

Gray.  Yes  !  I  picked  it  up  when  I  was  in  camp.  {Aside.) 
Framingham. 

Rosa.     Have  you  been  in  the  army  ? 

Gray.     Oh,  yes. 

Rosa.     I  thought  you  looked  like  a  military  man. 

Gray,  {pleased).     Ah,  indeed. 

Rosa.     Yes,  you  were  so  bold. 

Gray.     Bold  ?     I'm  afraid  I'm  a  terrible  coward. 

Rosa.     Oh,  no. 

Gray.  Judge  for  yourself.  I  wanted  to  win  a  girl's  heart. 
I  found  it  no  longer  free. 

Rosa.     She  loved  another  ? 

Gray.  No.  But  she  possessed  a  whim,  a  childish  caprice 
which  I  ought  to  have  attacked  and  routed,  and  I  threw  down 
my  arms  without  striking  a  blow. 

Rosa  {suppressed) .     And  you  loved  this  girl  ? 

Gray.     I  love  her  still. 

Rosa.     Was  she  pretty  ? 

Gray,  {intensely) .  How  shall  I  describe  her  ?  Her  eyes 
looked  into  my  soul.  Her  smiling  mouth  was  eloquent  in 
silence,  her  speech  was  like  an  angel's  song.  Oh,  you  see, 
I  tremble  when  I  think  of  her. 

Rosa.     Was  she  good  ? 

Gray.  Between  you  and  me  she  was  a  good-for-nothing 
little  witch.  But  such  a  charming  little  witch  !  she  had  a 
hundred  little  faults,  but  her  very  faults  became  her,  and 
were  she  mine  she  should  not  change  one  of  them. 

Rosa  {very  quiet).     And  is  it  all  over  now  ? 

Gray.  Yes  ;  it's  all  over,  she  would  have  nothing  to  say 
to  me.  {Intense.)  But  if  I  could  catch  her  again  —  if  I 
could  hold  her  to  my  heart  —  my  eyes  looking  into  hers,  I 
would  tell  my  love  so  eloquently  that  it  should  find  an  echo 
in  her  heart.      {Going  close  to  her  with  outstretched  ar7ns.) 

Rosa  {going to  door).     Hush  !  hush  !  mamma. 

Gray.     What  ? 

Rosa.     I  think  she  called  me  !     I'll   take  the  bandage  to 


43  A   KETTLE   OF    FISH. 

her  now.     (^Goes  off  with  bandage,  remains  in  full  view  of 
the  audience,  but  unseen  by  Grayling.) 

Gray,  {kissing his  hand  to  her^.     Oh,  you  darling,  I  think 
.1  require  some  cold  bandage  myself. 

Rosa.     Tm  all  in  a  glow.     Oh,  how  my  heart's  beating ! 

Gray.     It  must  be  the  lights  that  make  it  so  warm. 
(^Blows  out  candles ;  room  darkened  suddenly.^ 

Rosa.  He  loves  me,  really  loves  me.  {Anxiously.)  But 
he  must  not  tell  me  so,  not  now.  {Startled. )  Why  what's 
the  matter  ?  it's  getting  dark  !  Mr.  Grayling,  what  are  you 
doing  ? 

Gray.  I  —  oh  !  I  blew  out  one  of  the  lights  —  it  seemed 
too  light  —  for  your  mother, 

Rosa  {going  to  lamp,  and  turning  it  up).  Oh,  no  !  mam- 
ma's much  better  now.  {Lights  full  071.)  We  need  not  talk 
low  any  longer. 

Gray.     No?     {Crossing  r.) 

Rosa  (l.).    No  !  no  !  mamma  wishes  us  to  talk  quite  loud. 

Gray,     But,  Miss  Rosie  !  {Pointing  to  door.)    Her  head  ! 

Rosa  (loudly) .  Mamma  likes  to  hear  what  we  are  talking 
about. 

Gray.     But  to  speak  loud  now,  just  when  — 

Rosa  {taking  up  theatre  bill) .  Miss  Fotheringay  is  playing 
to-night. 

Gray,  {carelessly).     Indeed! 

Rosa.     Did  you  ever  see  her  in  the  "  Dumb  Girl "  ? 

Gray.     No  —  I  mean  yes  !  yes  !    she's  very  good. 

Rosa,     She  must  be  charming. 

Gray.  Yes.  {Suddenly.)  She  plays  the  love  scenes 
magnificently. 

Rosa.     Oh,  tell  me  all  about  them. 

Gray.  You  ought  to  see  it.  Her  lover  Rudolph  ap- 
proaches, and  with  burning  words  urges  his  love.  (Rosa 
turns  away,  and  casts  down  her  eyes.  Grayling  speaks  in- 
tensely ;  she  turns  away  and  lowers  lier  eyes. )  ' '  Look  at  me 
with  your  fascinating  eyes.  Answer  by  one  look  the  pas- 
sionate question  of  my  heart.  Do  you  love  me  ?  Do  you 
love  me  ?"  (Rosa  moves  away ;  Grayling  with  a  glance  at 
the  door  —  very  loud. )  That's  what  Rudolph  says  —  {to  Rosa) 
■ — and  when  he  sees  her  blush,  he  hesitates  no  longer,  he 
seizes  her  little  hand  {does  so),  and  presses  it  to  his  lips  — 
{does  so)  —  that's  Rudolph  the  lover ;   {business  as  before ;  to 


A   KETTLE   OF   FISH.  43 

Rosa)  and  begs  for  a  word,  a  sign,  a  pressure  of  the  hand, 
to  tell  him  that  she  loves  him.  (^osx  turns  to  him  suddenly, 
and  gives  her  other  hand. ^  Rosa,  Rosa —  (^embraces  her^  — 
My  darling ! 

Rosa.  Does  Rudolph  say  that  too  ?  (^Struggling  to  get 
away.^  I  heard  a  step,  someone's  coming.  (^Rushes  to  door 
and  blows  kiss  to  Gkayiai^g.)    Adieu,  adieu.  {Exit,  K.  2 'E.') 

Gray,  (^calling  to  her').  But,  Rosa!  (Coming  down.) 
What  a  little  angel,  and  she  loves  me  !  she  loves  — (^Pauses  and 
looks  at  door  of  Mrs.  Salmon's  room.) — Heavens!  Her 
mother !  she  overheard  aU.  Well,  FU  put  a  bold  face  on  it, 
and  declare  myself  now.  (Standing  opposite  door .)  Madam, 
I  — 

(Enter  Mrs.  Salmon  a«d?  Maud,  'l.c,  they  stand  and  stare.) 
As  you  have  overheard  all,  I  can  only  beg  of  you  not  to 
thwart  my  wishes!  Madam,  the  happiness  of  two  people 
depends  on  your  answer. 

Mrs.  S.  (very  loudly) .     What  do  you  mean.  Sir  ? 

(Pescatori  leads  on  Paul  with  a  brigand'' s  hat  and  boots 
on;  and  Salmon  as  Sophocles,  his  own  overcoat  over  his 
fancy  costume,  and  a  band  round  his  head;  both  slightly  the 
worse  for  liquor.  When  Grayling  says  ' '  my  offering  to 
Folly,''"'  Pescatori  releases  Salmon  and  Paul,  and  they  both 
fall,  L.    Horror  and  disgust  of  yiRS.  Salmon  and  Maud.) 

Gray,  (turning and  seeing  the  group).  Heavens  !  my  of- 
fering to  Folly. 

Quick  Curtain. 


ACT   III. 

Scene. — Same  as  in  Act  IT.  Disposition  of  the  furniture 
unchanged  except  that  the  escritoire  is  placed  more  L.  c. 
opposite  to  window.  Gas  full  on  during  whole  Act .  Mrs. 
Salmon  and  Pescatori  discovered  at  writing-table.  Pes- 
catori seated,  L.C. 
Pesc.     Signora,  I  have  taken  the  liberty  to  come ;    may  I 

ask  how  is  your  health  ? 

Mrs.  S.     Signor,  I   feel   thoroughly  upset.     Last  night's 

discovery  has  been  a  great  shock  to  me. 

Pesc.     Oh,  signora,  I  am  so  sorry.     (Gesture.) 


idsi^a^siSS:^^.,^ 


44  A    KETTLE    OF    FISH. 

Mrs.  S.  But  you  did  not  come  solely  to  ask  after  my 
health,  you  wished  to  remind  me  of  my  promise.  Am  I  not 
right  ? 

Pesc.     You  are,  signora,  si. 

Mrs.  S.  You  wish  to  know  who  is  the  original  of  that 
picture,  No.  728.  Well,  prepare  yourself  for  a  surprise  —  it  is 
my  daughter  Rosa. 

Pesc.  Da  vero  ?  Ma  Dio  mio,  but  the  signorina  has  not 
the  hair  of  gold. 

Mrs.  S.  The  artist  took  upon  himself  to  change  the  color 
of  her  hair. 

Pesc.  Indeed,  are  you  sure  you  do  not  mistake  ?  There 
is  a  large  —  {geshire')  —  dog  in  the  picture. 

Mrs.  S.     Certainly,  our  dog,    (^Crosses 'K.') 

Pesc.  Then  it  is  the  same.  Oh,  signora,  my  heart  jumps 
so —  {gesture^  — for  joy.  And  I  may  telegraph  at  once  to  his 
Highness.     (^Rises.^    Non  e  vero  ? 

Mrs.  S.  Certainly;  that  is,  without  making  any  reference 
to  me.  The  truth  is,  signor,  that  I  had  a  reason  for  not 
acknowledging  the  picture  to  be  my  daughter's.  That  reason 
no  longer  exists,  and  anyone  who  asks  may  hear  the  whole 
story.  You  are  the  first  to  be  told,  as  you  were  the  first  to 
question  me  on  the  subject. 

Pesc.  (l.,  with  gesture  of  secrecy^.  Bene,  signora,  molto 
bene.  Oh,  signora,  I  am  now  so  happy.  (^Gesture.)  I  fly 
to  the  telegraph  ofiice.  (^Kissing  hand.')  Signora  illustris- 
sima.  {Bows,  exits,  I.. c.) 

Mrs.  S.     There,  that  has  begun  well,  and  I  will  take  care 
that  it  ends  well.     I  intend  to  have  my  own  way  this  time. 
(Goes  towards  R.  i  E.,  and  returns.) 

(Enter  Paul   and  Mr.    Salmon,  l.   2  e.,  not  seeing  Mrs. 

Salmon.  ) 

Paul  (c).     Come  along,  father,  the  coast  is  clear,  and  — 

(Sees  Mrs.  Salmon,  and  nudges  Mr.  S.,  who  looks  at  her.) 

Salm.      (l).     Oh  lord,  Paul,  don't  forsake  your  father. 

(Mrs.  S.  looks  at  them  freezingly  and  turtis  to  go  r.) 
Paul.     My  dear  mother,  will  you —  (Stops.) 
Mrs.  S.      (coldly).     Well,  sir.     (Stops  and  faces  him.) 
Paul.     I  had  a  little  request  — 
Salm.     And  so  had  I  — 
Mrs.  S.     You!     (Crosses  quickly  to  c.)  — I  will  inter- 


A   KETTLE   OF   FISH.  45 

v\&vj  you  later  —  in  private.     {To  Paul.)     Well,  sir,  your 
request  ? 

Paul  (r.).     I  would  like  to  see  Maud. 

Mrs.  S.  Do  you  mean  to  insinuate  that  I  stand  between 
you  and  your  wife  ? 

Paul.     Well, — yes — I  — 

Mrs.  S.  You  are  entirely  mistaken,  sir.  I  will  tell  her 
myself  that  you  wish  to  see  her. 

Salm.   (going  to  her') .     And,  darling,  I  — 

Mrs.  S.  {gives  hint  one  look  and  then  turns  to  door,  R.  2 
E.,  knocks).  Maud,  the  gentleman  that  your  father  chose 
for  your  husband  wishes  to  see  you.  {Noise  of  door  being 
bolted. )     Ah  !  you  hear  that,  sir  ? 

Paul  (r.  c.  up).     But  what  does  it  mean  ? 

Mrs.  S.  (R.).  It  means  that  my  daughter  is  determined 
to  remain  a  prisoner  in  her  own  room,  as  long  as  she  is 
compelled  to  be  under  the  same  roof  with  you.  I  presume 
you  understand  now  ? 

Paul.     But,  my  dear  mother,  I  beg  — 

Mrs.  S.  Oh,  spare  your  appeals,  sir,  that  door  will 
remain  bolted. 

Salm.  But,  Hildy  dear,  I  —  that  is,  we — {Exit  Mrs. 
Salmon,  r.  i  e.,  with  an  angry  look  at  him.)  I  wish  she 
wouldn'  t  look  at  me  like  that. 

Paul  {laughing).  Ha,  ha!  {Goes  up  tip-toe  to  door  "S.. 
1  E.,  and  knocks.)     Maud,  it's  I !     She's  gone. 

Maud  {peepitig  out) .     Really  ? 

Paul.     Yes.     Come  out. 

Maud  {rushing to  his  arms).     My  darling  Paul ! 

Paul.     My  jewel  of  a  wife!     {Kisses^  her.) 

Salm.   {astonished) .     I  say,  what' s  all  this  ? 

Paul.     Oh,  we  made  it  up,  didn'  t  we,  darUng  ? 

Maud.     Of  course,  I  forgave  him,  papa. 

Salm.  {aside).  Well,  your  mother  wouldn't  let  me  get 
in  a  word  edgeways. 

Maud  {to  Salmon)  .  But  mamma  wouldn' t  hear  of  it. 
She  made  me  promise  to  give  up  Paul  for  ever. 

Paul.  But  Paul  wouldn' t  be  given  up,  eh  dear  ?  {Kisses 
her.) 

Salm.  But  my  dears,  {looking  round),  she  may  come 
back  any  moment. 

Maud.  Then  you  go  and  look  for  her,  papa — ha»  ha! 
{Laughitig.^ 


46  A   KETTLE   OF   FISH. 

Paul.  Yes,  papa  ;  you  stand  here.  {Places  him  near 
door,  R.  I  E.)  Keep  your  weather  eye  open,  and  warn  us  if 
she  comes. 

Salm.     They  all  treat  me  like  this. 

Paul.  Now  we'  re  quite  safe,  darling.  {Kisses  her,  and 
they  sit  on  a  settee,  L.  C.  )  Last  night's  occurrence  was  my 
little  act  of  folly.  But  you  know  what  I've  promised  for  the 
future. 

Maud.     And  how  will  you  keep  your  promise  ? 

Paul.     As  closely  as  I  hold  you  now.     {Embracing her.) 

Salm.     Look  out,  mamma's  coming.      {Excited.) 

Paul.  The  deuce!  (Maud  rushes  to  room,  r.  2  e., 
Paul  to  door  opposite,  l.  2  e.,  he  calls  from  door.)  Maud, 
I'  ve  an  idea. 

Salm.     Hold  on  to  it,  sh  —  she's  here. 

{Exeunt  Paul  and  Maud.) 

(Mrs.   Salmon  enters,  l.  i  e.,  crosses  to  table,  and  ad- 
dresses a  letter.) 

Salm.  {aside).  She  shall  listen  to  me.  {Aloud.)  Hil- 
degard,  dearest.  {Sits  chair,  R.) 

Mrs.  S.  I  wish  to  let  you  know  that  after  to-day  you  haa 
better  take  rooms  at  an  hotel. 

Salm.     But  — 

Mrs.  S.     My  daughters  and  I  return  home  to-day. 

Salm.     Hildegard ! 

Mrs.  S.  I  do  not  wish  further  to  interfere  with  your 
literary  work,  and  above  all  things  I  wish  to  save  my 
children  from  seeing  their  father  disgrace  himself. 

Salm.     But  what  was  there  so  very  wrong  ? 

Mrs.  S.  You  dare  to  ask  me  that?  You  don't  under- 
stand what  a  blow  it  was  to  me  to  see  my  husband,  whom  I 
have  ever  esteemed  and  honored,  painted  and  dressed  up 
like  a  clown,  and  surrounded  by  a  crowd  of  dancers  in  short 
dresses  and  shamelessly  decolletees. 

Salm.  Were  they  decolletees,  Hildegard  ?  I  really  never 
noticed  —  I  didn't  even  look  at  them.  I  —  (Mrs.  Salmon 
cries;  aside.)     Thank  Heaven!  she' s  softening. 

Mrs.  S.  That  this  should  have  happened  on  a  day  when 
I  anticipated  so  much  joy.  When  I  had  such  a  surprise  in 
store  for  you  — 

Salm.     Hildegard ! 


A   KETTLE    OF   FISH.  4/ 

Mrs.  S.  {taking  book  from  drawer  of  writing-table). 
Take  it,  take  it,  though  all  my  pleasure  in  it  is  gone. 

[Gives  book  to  Mr.  Salmon  and  crosses  to  c.) 

(Paul  comes  gently  from  door,  L.,  and  moves  on  tip  toe  to 
Maud's  door,  r.  ;  Mrs.  Salmon  suddenly  moves ;  he    flies 

back  to  L.  door.) 

Salm.  What's  this  ?  "  Rondels  of  a  Fiance,"  by  Fred- 
eric Salmon. 

Mrs.  S.  They  are  the  poems  you  wrote  me  while  we 
were  engaged. 

Salm.  {falls  back  in  chair) .  Heavens  and  earth  !  Have 
you  had  them  printed  ? 

Mrs.  S.  Yes,  secretly,  to  give  you  a  pleasant  surprise. 
They  will  be  on  sale  at  all  the  booksellers'  to-day. 

Salm.  {tragically).     It's  all  over.     I'm  done  for. 

Mrs.  S.     What  do  you  mean  ? 

Salm.  Don't  you  understand  ?  Those  poems  were  not 
mine. 

Mrs.  S.     What  ? 

Salm.  That  is  to  say,  not  altogether,  the  ideas  were  not 
original.     I  was  borrowing  from  the  great  poets. 

Mrs.  S.     And  you  deceived  me  even  at  that  time  ! 

Salm.  I  didn't  —  I  only  gave  vent  to  my  feelings.  Am  I 
to  blame  because  Shakespeare  gave  vent  to  the  saiie  feelings 
before  me  ?  Could  I  have  dreamed  that  you  wduld  publish 
the  stuff  ?  Now  I  am  in  for  it.  I  shall  be  the  butt  of  the 
comic  papers  for  months. 

Mrs.  S.     And  I  meant  so  well. 

Salm.  {suddenly  jumping  up).  Where's  my  hat  —  my 
coat  — 

Mrs.  S.     Why,  where  are  you  going  ? 

Salm.  To  the  bookseller's,  the  printer's,  the  grocer's, 
anywhere  in  order  to  buy  up  the  books  and  avert  this  ridi- 
cule. {Going  L.c.  meets  Grayling,  who  seizes  him  by  the 
buttonhole.) 

Gray.  Ah,  Mr.  Salmon,  I  have  a  request  to  make  to 
you. 

Salm.     Excuse  me;  I  have  some  pressing  business. 

{V AVL  pops  fro7n  door,  L.  2  E.,  and  catches  Mr.  Salmon  by 
the  arm,  who  shakes  him  off.     Paul  returns,  L.  2  E.) 
Gray.    Tt  concerns  your  daughter's  welfare. 


^,V-  .-y-^-.-;-  AiCi^a^-. . . 


48  A    KETTLE    OF    FISH. 

Salm.  Well,  there's  my  wife ;  talk  to  lier.  I  must  go 
away  at  once.  (^Exit,  L.c.) 

Gray.  (l.).  Madam,  in  the  confusion  of  last  night,  I 
had  no  chance  to  speak  to  you.  I  come  here  to-day  to  ask 
from  you  your  daughter's  hand. 

Mrs.  S.  (r.).  Sir,  I  do  not  wish  to  recall  anything  that 
passed  last  night ;  but  as  to  your  request  of  to-day,  I  must 
give  you  a  decided  "  No"  for  an  answer. 

Gray.     But,  madam  — 

Mrs.  S.  Above  all,  my  daughter  has  no  desire  for  mar- 
riage. 

Gray.  Madam,  on  the  contrary,  I  believe  I  am  better  in- 
formed than  you  are. 

Mrs.  S.  And  lastly,  I  have  plans  for  her  future  which  I 
insist  shall  not  be  thwarted. 

Gray.  Madam,  I  cannot  give  up  my  hopes  so  easily.  Per- 
haps if  you  were  to  ask  Miss  Rosa  herself  ? 

Mrs.  S.  Oh,  you  think  that  Rosa  herself  would  give  a 
different  answer.  {Going  to  door,  r.  i  e.)  I  can  end  your 
uncertainty  on  that  point.     {Calls. ^  Rosa. 

Gray,  {aside).     Ah,  I  know  I  can  rely  upon  her  promise. 

Rosa  {enters,  r.  i  e.).  Mamma!  {Sees  Grayling.)  Oh  — 

Mrs.  S.  (c.)  My  darling  child,  Mr.  Grayling  has  just 
asked  for  your  hand. 

Rosa  (r.,  confused).     Indeed! 

Mrs.  S.  I  have  told  him  that  I  have  other  plans  for  you, 
that  I  am  determined  to  choose  my  second  son-in-law  myself. 
(Paul  and  Maud  appear  at  their  doors  and  sign  to  each  other. 
Business  here;  Maud,  r.  corner.)  Mr.  Grayling  imagines 
that  you,  my  sweet  child,  could  be  undutifiil  enough  to  have 
opinions  of  your  own. 

Rosa  {archly) .  What  could  have  led  you  to  imagine  that, 
Sir? 

Gkay .^astonished) .     But,  Miss  Rosa,  I  hoped  — 

Rosa.  You  were  wrong  to  do  so.  I  shall  never  do  any- 
thing that  my  mother  does  not  approve  of. 

Mrs.  S.  {triumphantly).  You  hear  ?  My  darling  daugh- 
ter.    {Kisses  her.) 

Paul  {has  crossed  to  Maud's  door,  who  7ww  enters) .  I 
have  something  to  tell  you. 

Mrs.  S.  {hears  him,  and  turns  her  back  on  RoSA  and 
Grayling)  .     Why  have  you  returned,  sir  ? 


A    KETTLE    OF    FISH.  49 

Paul.     Oh,  I  really  — 

Rosa  {who  has  crossed  to  Grayling)  .  Tm  only  pretend- 
ing, (l.c.)  Take  no  notice  of  what  I  say  while  mamma  is 
here. 

Gray  {takes  her  hand  and  kisses  it) .     Oh,  you  angel. 

(  They  whisper. ) 

Mrs.  S.  {to  Paul).     I  cannot  understand  this  audacity. 

Maud.  One  moment,  mamma.  As  this  gentleman  has 
appealed  to  me,  I  wish  to  tell  him  how  much  I  despise  him. 

Paul  {tragically') .     Are  you  so  unforgiving,  Maud  ? 

Mrs.  S.  Silence,  sir!  Let  my  daughter  continue.  {Turns 
to  Rosa,  who  separates  from  Grayling,  her  back  to  Paul 
and  Maud.) 

Maud.  Come  here,  sir.  (Paul  goes  to  her,  they  embrace. 
Paul  watching  Mrs.  Salmon.) 

Mrs.  S.  Mr.  Grayling,  my  eldest  daughter  married  in 
opposition  to  my  wishes ;  you  can  see  for  yourself  the  sad 
result.  {Points  to  Paul  and  Maud,  without  turning;  they 
are  '■'■  spoonin^\') 

Gray.     Awful ! 

Mrs.  S.  Yes,  is  it  not  sad  ?  Two  once-loving  souls 
parted  for  ever.     Ah!  had  Maud  listened  to  me.     {Cries.) 

Rosa.     Calm  yourself,  mamma.     I  will  listen  to  you. 

Mrs.  S.  That  is  right,  Rosa  —  ah,  had  Maud  done  so  — 
{turns  to  Maud  and'? ami.  who  separate — Grayling  seizes 
Rosa's  ha7id  and  kisses  it.  Business  with  a  rose.  Mrs. 
Salmon  turns  again.  Rosa  and  Grayling  separate.)  You 
%ee,  Maud,  had  you  obeyed  me  then  as  Rosa  does  now  —  all 
would  have  been  different.  Come,  my  poor  children.  {Takes 
one  on  each  shoulder.  Paul  and  Grayling  stand  a  little 
oehind  and  take  Maud  and  Rosa's  hands  and  kiss  them.) 

Mrs.  S.     To-day  is  a  sad  day  for  us. 

Rosa.     Very,  very  sad,  mamma. 

Mrs.  S.  {releasing  the  girls).  And  now,  gentlemen,  you 
have  no  fiirther  cause  for  uncertainty.  My  daughters  have 
not  been  brought  up  like  some  girls,  they  obey  in  all  things 
{moving  to  door ,  r.  i  e;.)  their  mother.  {Exit,  r.  i  e.  with 
dignity.) 

Paul.     Ha,  ha,  ha,  mamma  is  grand. 

Maud.     You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,  Paul. 

Paul.  So  I  am,  dear.  PlI  hide  my  head.  {Embrace  { 
they  go  Jip  and  off ,  r.  2  e.) 


50  A    KETTLE    OF    FISH. 

Rosa  (Jo  Grayling,  coming  down  c).   Argument  would 
have  been  useless.     Leave  it  all  to  me.     Til  try  and  persuade 
mamma.     I  think  you  may  safely  leave  your  case  in  my  hands. 
Mrs.  S.  {outside^.     Rosa! 
Rosa.     Let  me  go.      {Rushes  off,  R.  I  E.) 
Gray,  {looking  after  her) .     At  last !     At  last ! 
Salm.   {eiders,  L.  c,  wiih  Minna  and  two  boys ;  they  are 
laden  with  packets  of  books) .    There,  that's  all  right.     Put  'em 
down.      {They  drop  books.)     Now,  call  your  misti ess.    {^Exit 
Minna,  r.  i  e.) 

Gray,  (c.)  Why,  what  have  you  got  there? 
Salm.  My  complete  works.  The  whole  edition.  I  grudge 
the  Jjublic  even  a  single  copy.  (Minna  enters,  r.  i  e.)  Oh, 
Minna,  there  will  be  a  van  full  of  those  this  afternoon.  Take 
'em  to  the  kitchen  when  they  come,  they'll  do  for  lighting  the 
fire.     {Exit  Minna,  l.  c.) 

Mrs.  S.  {enters,  R.  i  e).     Well,  were  you  in  time? 
Salm.     Fortunately  I  was.     The  printer  had  hardly  sent 
out  any  copies.     I  have  had  a  very  pleasant  morning,  my 
dear. 

Mrs.  S.     Oh,  Frederic  !    (Grayling  crosses  at  back  to  l.) 

Salm.  (c).     Oh,  that  wasn't  all.     Look  here.    {Takes  up 

newspaper .)     This  paper  has  given  me  a  little  surprise.     {To 

Grayling.)     Just  read  that  article,  headed  "  Literary  Notes," 

to  my  wife. 

Mrs.  S.     About  you,  Frederic? 
Salm.     Yes,  about  me.     (Mrs.  S.  pleased^^ 
Gray.  (r.  reads).     "  During  the  past  few  weeks  a  monthly 
magazine  entitled  '  Fragrant  Leaflets,'  has  appeared,  which 
publishes  under  the  head  of  poetry,  some  of  the  most  childish 
doggerel  we  have  ever  read  "  — 
Mrs.  S.     Oh  ! 

Salm.     Pray  go  on,  sir.     There  is  more  to  come. 
Gray.     "  Out  of  consideration  for  the  families  of  the  con- 
tributors we  refrain  from  publishing  their  names.     Doubtless, 
these  gentlemen,  when  concocting  their  mass  of  platitudes, 
false  quantities  and  plagiarisms,  never  dreamed  of  giving  them 
to  the  world,  and  would  riot  have  done  so,  but  for  the  arts  of 
a  literary  adventurer,  who  saw  in  their  utter  inexperience  and 
rural  innocence  his  only  chance  of  enriching  himself." 
Salm.  (c.)     "  Rural  innocence,"  that's  me,  you  know. 
(Grayling  ^z7/<fj'  back  newspaper.^ 


A   KETTLE   OF   FISH.  5 1 

Mrs.  S.  (r.)  I  hope  you  will  have  the  wretch  who  wrote 
that  up  for  libel. 

S  ALM.  Have  him  up  for  libel .''  I'll  have  him  up  for  dinner, 
ni  be  his  friend  for  life.  For  that  man  is  right  —  he  has 
opened  my  eyes. 

Mrs.  S.      But  your  society  novel. 

Salm.     It  will  do  to  light  the  fire  with. 

Mrs.  S.     And  all  your  other  works? 

Salm.  Waste  paper.  I'm  no  poet.  I  always  said  so.  A 
true  poet  sometimes  has  ideas.  I  never  had  but  one  idea 
in  my  life,  and  that  comes  too  late. 

{Enter  Dr.  Pollock,  l.c,  quickly.') 

Dr.  p.  Victory,  my  dear  friend,  victory.  I  bring  you 
good  news. 

Salm.     He's  just  in  time. 

Mrs.  S.     What  is  it? 

Dr.  p.  The  "  Rondels  of  a  Fiance"  is  an  immense  suc- 
cess. I've  just  come  from  the  publishers.  A  gentleman  has 
just  been  there  and  bought  up  the  whole  edition. 

Salm.  I  know  it.  Here's  the  gentleman,  and  there's  the 
edition.      (^Pointing  to  books .) 

Dr.  p.     You  bought  it. 

Salm.  Yes,  who  else  would  have  been  such  a  fool  as  to 
buy  such  rubbish  ? 

Dr.  p.     Rubbish  —  excuse  me  — 

Salm.  Yes,  of  course  it's  rubbish.  My  wife  is  not  to  be 
blamed ;  she  didn't  understand  such  things,  and  thought  I . 
was  a  great  poet.  Here,  {giving  tiewspaper')  you  have  it  in 
black  and  white  —  read  it  —  it's  my  sentiments  too  —  the 
writer  ridicules  me  from  the  bottom  of  his  heart,  and  I  agree 
with  every  word  he  says  — 

Dr.  p.  {after  reading^.  And  so  do  I.  {Folding  up  paper 
and  returning  it. ) 

Salm.     What? 

Dr.  p.  Sir,  this  writer  has  convinced  me  —  my  theories 
are  all  wrong.  Amateurs  should  not  seek  notoriety.  But  we 
will  change  all  that.  You  and  I  will  start  a  paper  to  combat 
the  claims  of  the  bunglers.  We  will  call  it  the  "  Wastepaper 
Basket."  We  shall  be  certain  of  any  number  of  suitable  con- 
tributors.    Do  you  consent? 

Salm.  Oh,  start  what  you  like,  but  excuse  me  from  assisting 
you. 


U-  C-  in.  UB^ 


52  A   KETTLE    OF    FISH. 

Dr.  p.     Then  I  have  lost  you.     Is  there  no  other  way? 

S ALM.  (^pointing  to  door,  L.  c) .  Only  one  at  present.  But 
we'll  change  all  that. 

Dr.  p.  And  this  is  the  Frederic  Salmon  whom  I  have 
raised  from  the  quagmire  of  obscurity  and  placed  upon  the 
pinnacle  of  popularity. 

Salm.  Popularity  indeed ;  do  you  wish  to  make  me  as 
big  a  humbug  as  you  are  yourself  ? 

Dr.  P.     Humbug ;  this  is  too  unkind  ! 

Salm.  Yes,  sir,  humbug;  why,  I  believe  your  very  title 
of  Doctor  is  a  sham. 

Dr.  p.  No,  sir,  I  did  come  by  that  honestly,  for  I  bought 
it  in  Germany. 

Gray,  {to  Dr.  Pollock)  .  I  should  advise  you  to  take  the 
hint  —  and  your  departure. 

(^Exit  Dr.   Pollock  crushed  and  discomfited ;  Mrs.  Sal- 
mon goes  up  K.') 

Salm.  I  should  have  lost  my  temper  in  another  moment. 
What  a  fool  Pve  made  of  myself,  eh,  Grayling? 

Gray.  Don't  you  remember,  sir,  that  every  man  once  in 
his  life  — 

Salm.  Lays  his  offering  at  Folly's  feet.  Yes,  you're  a  true 
prophet.  Grayling.  But  it's  all  over  now.  By-the-way,  what 
was  that  request  you  had  to  make  of  me  when  I  was  rushing 
off  to  the  bookseller's  this  morning? 

Gray.  I  wished  to  ask  for  your  daughter's  hand.  But 
your  wife  — 

Salm.     Well,  did  my  wife  say  No? 

Mrs.  S.  {corning  down,  c).  Certainly,  I  said  No,  and  PU 
stick  to  it.  In  a  matter  concerning  my  daughter's  welfare 
there  shall  be  no  acts  of  folly. 

Salm.     But,  my  dear  — 

Mrs.  S.  I  will  not  give  up  my  dreams  of  rank  and  wealth. 
If  I  can't  be  the  wife  of  a  poet,  I  may  be  the  mother-in-law  of 
a  prince. 

Salm.     Hildegard,  are  you  insane? 

Mrs.  S.  {smiling^.  Prince  Topolkski  fell  in  love  with 
Rosa's  picture,  and  wishes  to  make  her  his  wife. 

Min.  {enters,  L.  c).     Signor  Pescatori,  sir. 
(Rosa,    Maud,  and  Paul,  enter  r.  2  e.,    as   Pescatori 

comes  in  L.  c.) 

Pesc.     Signora,  a  telegrammo. 


£J.- 


A   KETTLE   OF   FISH.  53 

Mrs.  S.     From  the  Prince  for  me.   {Looks  round  at  others.^ 

Pesc.     Si,  Signora,  for  you.     {Gives  telegraph  message.') 

Gray,  (l.,  to  Rosa).  You  will  keep  your  promise  what- 
ever happens. 

Rosa   (l.  c).     Yes.      {Gives  him  her  hatid.) 
(Mrs.    Salmon,   l.  c,    has   read  telegram,  throws  it  down 
with  a  scream  and  goes  up  l.) 

Salm.     What's  the  matter,  Hildy? 

{Picks  up  telegram  and  reads.) 

Pesc.     Ma,  signora,  what  is  wrong? 

Mrs.  S.     Out  of  my  sight ! 

Pesc.     Out  of  your  eyes.     {Gesture.) 

Salm.     Ha  —  ha  —  that  is  —  ha  —  ha  —  ha  —  too  good. 

Rosa.  \    But,  papa  — 

Gray.  \    What  can  it  be? 

Salm.  {to  Grayling).  There,  take  her.  Mamma  will 
give  her  consent.     Won't  you,  old  lady? 

Rosa.     But  what  is  the  Prince's  message? 

Mrs.  S.  Frederic,  I'm  ashamed  of  myself.  {Comes  down, 
hides  her  head  o?t  Salmon's  shoulder.) 

Salm.  Nonsense  !  This  was  your  little  act  of  folly,  and 
that  ends  it.  {Gives  telegram  to  Rosa.)  There,  read  it 
yourself,  my  dear. 

Rosa  {reads).  "Just  learnt  from  Signer  Pescatore  that 
the  portrait,  No.  728,  in  the  Exhibition  of  the  Art  Club  is 
that  of  your  daughter.  This  being  the  case,  I  have  a  pro- 
posal to  make." 

All.     a  proposal?     There! 

Rosa  {reading) .  ' '  The  portrait  the  artist  has  painted  is 
so  beautiful  that  I  burn  to  possess  the  original." 

All.     What  can  he  mean? 

Rosa  {reading).  "  Therefore,  I  am  prepared  to  accede  to 
any  terms  you  may  name  —  for  I  must  and  will  possess  — " 

All.     Yes?     {Intensely  interested.) 

Rosa  {triumphantly  and  falling  into  Grayling's  arms). 


"The  Dog." 

^c«c  S.     Salmon.     r> 

R. 

Quick  curtain. 

L. 

./ 


New  Plays 


RED  ACRE  FARM 

A  Rural  Comedy  Drama  in  Three  Acts 

Jfy  Gordan  V.  May 

Author  of ''Bar  Haven,''  "  At  Random  Run"  etc. 

Seven  males,  five  females.  Costumes,  modern  ;  scenery,  one  interioft 
one  exterior.  Plays  two  hours.  An  easy  and  entertaining  play  with  a 
well-balanced  cast  of  characters.  The  story  is  strong  and  sympathetic  and 
the  comedy  element  varied  and  amusing.  Barnaby  Strutt  is  a  great  part 
for  a  good  comedian  ;  "  Junior  "  a  close  second.     Strongly  recommended. 

Price,  2^  cents 

CHARACTERS 

Josi  AH  Armstrong,  the  owner  of  Red  Acre  Farm. 

Colonel  Barnaby  Strutt,  "Crawling  Codwollopers,** 

Jonah  Jones,  a  farm  helper. 

Squire  Harcourt,  who  holds  a  mortgage. 

Harry  Harcourt,  his  profligate  son. 

Dick  Randall,  who  seeks  his  fortune. 

Tom  Busby,  a  traveling  merchant. 

Amanda  Armstrong,  JosiaKs  wife. 

Nellie  Armstrong,  driven  from  home. 

Laura  Armstrong,  a  poor,  weak  sinner, 

Mrs.  Barnaby  Strutt,  the  Colonel's  wife. 

•'  Junior,"  adopted  daughter  of  the  Strutts. 

SYNOPSIS 

Act  I. — Living-room  of  Armstrong's  home.     Spring. 
Act  n. — Garden  in  front  of  Armstrong's  home.     Summer. 
Act  HL — Same  as  Act  \.     Winter. 

THE  SPEED  LIMIT 

A  Sketch  in  Two  Scenes 

By  Ernest  M.  Gould 

Five  males.  Costumes,  modern ;  scenery,  unnecessary.  Plays  twenty 
minutes.  A  good-natured  and  effective  skit  on  automobiling,  very  funny 
and  very  easy  to  get  up.  It  requires  no  scenery  or  stage,  but  can  be  done 
on  a  platform  just  as  well.  Its  fun  is  extravagant,  but  it  is  otherwise 
suited  for  school  performance.  Price,  ij  cents 

"WILLIAM" 

A  Farce  in  One  Act 

By  W.  C.  Barker 

Two  males,  two  females.  Costumes,  modern;  scene,  an  interior. 
Plays  twenty  minutes.  A  brisk  little  piece  of  the  vaudeville  order,  easy 
and  full  of  laughs.     All  three  parts  are  good ;  strongly  recommended. 

Price,  i^  cents 


By  the  Author  of  "Mr.  Bob" 

THE  NEW  CRUSADE 

A  Comedy  in  Two  Acts 
By  Rachel  Baker  Gale 

velve  females.  Costumes,  modern ;  scenery,  two  interiors.  Plays  one 
and  thirty  minutes.  A  very  amusing  satire  of  tlie  servant  girl  ques- 
brimful  of  telling  incidents  and  effective  lines.  All  the  parts  are 
.  and  of  nearly  equal  opportunity,  and  practically  play  themselves. 
I  rehearsed,  it  is  a  sure  success  and  goes  with  a  scream.  Irish,  negro 
Swede  character  parts  and  a  "  tough  "  girl.  Strongly  recommended 
ladies'  clubs.  Can  be  played  only  on  payment  of  a  royalty  of  ^5.00 
e  author. 

Price,  2^  cents 

CHARACTERS 

s  MoFiRlS,  nothing  if  not  businesslike. 

>.  Cogswell-Brown,  who  believes  in  cooperative  housekeeping, 

>.  Potter- Hewitt,  who  looks  small,  but  is  not. 

).  Raymond,  who  advocates  "The New  Crusade." 

>.  Archibald  Tracey,  in  search  of  a  maid  and  experience. 

DGETT  Mahoney,  in  search  of"  an  ould  gintleman." 

lY  Macguire,  who  likes  ''the  theyatre  in  the  winter  toime^ 

(USTA  Olsen,  who  comes  from  "Svedenfor  big  monay." 

SIE  Clay,  who  never  "takes  suggestions  from  anybody." 

jjie  Burch,  who  never  "has  titne  for  afternoon  tea." 

riLDA  Johnson,  who  likes  "slaughtennobiles  atid  a  chojffer,*" 

IRY,  the  settlement  girl — who' s  always  "on  de  level." 

COATS  AND  PETTICOATS 

A  Comedy  in  One  Act 
By  Rachel  Baker  Gale 

16  male  (played  by  a  woman),  seven  females,  and  if  desired,  sixteen 
for  chorus.  Costumes,  modern  ;  scene,  an  interior.  Plays  forty-five 
ites.  A  very  lively  and  amusing  piece  introducing  fancy  dresses, 
c  and  dancing.  All  the  parts  of  about  equal  opportunity.  Irish 
:dy  part  and  two  capital  "  old  maids."  Very  funny  and  not  difficult, 
plete  with  music  for  the  Suffragettes'  song  and  march  and  the  Old 
Is'  song  and  march.     Very  strongly  recommended. 

Price,  23  cents 

AN  EASY  MARK 

A  Farce  in  One  Act 

By  Innis  Gardner  O shorn 
ve  males,  two  females.  Costumes,  modern ;  scene,  an  easy  interior. 
s  thirty-five  minutes.  A  side-splitting  farce  of  college  life  lively  enough 
ait  the  most  exacting  demands.  Full  of  funny  incident  and  telling 
.  Burlesque  actor  and  "  tough  "  young  man  parts ;  the  rest  "  straight" 
all  good.     Recommended  for  schools.  Price^  ij  cents. 


New  College  Plays 


THE  COLLEGE  BALL 

A  Comedy  in  Four  Acts 
By  Harry  O.  Osgood 

Seven  males,  five  females.  Costumes  modern ;  scenery,  three  interiors. 
Plays  two  hours  and  a  half.  Written  expressly  for  school  and  college  per- 
formance, and  strongly  recommended  for  this  purpose.  Easy  to  stage,  all 
the  parts  good,  plot  of  strong  and  sympathetic  interest,  lots  of  good  and 
characteristic  incident — in  short,  just  what  is  asked  for  for  this  purpose. 
A  sure  success.  Price,  2^  cents 

CHARACTERS 

Tom  Bradford  ")  o     .  Kitty  Peters,  his  daughter, 

Dick  Adams         j  *  Frances  Wing. 

Henry  Carter  \  Eleanor  Bradford,  Tom^t  aunt. 

Phil  Patten        |-  Juniors.  Sally  Prentiss. 

George  Ropes    j  A  Maid. 

Professor  Peters.  A  Waiter. 

TWO   STRIKES 

A  Baseball  Comedy  in  Two  Acts 

By  Thacher  Howland  Guild 

Six  males,  one  female.  Costumes  modern;  sceneiy,  two  interiors.  Plays 
an  hour  and  a  quarter.  Originally  produced  by  The  Mask  and  Bauble 
Society  of  The  University  of  Illinois,  and  highly  recommended  for  similar 
uses.  Very  easy  to  produce,  all  the  parts  of  nearly  equal  opportunity, 
dramatic  interest  unusually  strong ;  an  unusually  well  written  piece  with 
excellent  character  drawing.  Can  be  relied  upon  to  please.  Royalty  of 
^5.00  for  each  performance  payable  to  the  author. 

Price,  2^  cents 

CHARACTERS 

Dean  Thomas,  Dean  of  under-  Phil  Hodge,  a  senior. 

graduates.  Cap.  Fosdick,  of  the  team. 

Artie,  his  student  office-boy.        Eben  Spaulding,  Lan  s  uncle, 
Lan  Spaulding,  of  the  baseball  Helen  Hodge,  Phifs  sister. 

t£(X77Z 

AN  EQUAL  CHANCE 

A  Sketch  in  One  Act 

Two  male  characters.  Scenery  unimportant ;  modem  costumes.  Plays 
twenty  minutes.  A  bright  little  rapid  fire  piece  for  two  light  comedy 
men.  Light  but  keenly  and  continuously  amusing.  Just  the  thing  to  have 
ready  for  extemporaneous  performance,  since  it  requires  neither  scenery 
nor  properties,  and  can  be  done  in  any  costume. 

Price,  /J  cents. 


New  Plays 


THE  TWIG  OF  THORN 

An  Irish  Fairy  Play  in  Two  Acts 

By  Marie  Josephine  Warren 

Author  of  **Tke  Elopement  of  Ellen,"  "Tommfs  Wife,"  "Endymion,"  etc. 

Six  males,  seven  females.  Costumes,  Irish  peasant ;  scene,  an  interior. 
Plays  an  hour  and  a  half.  A  little  play  of  strong  dramatic  interest  and 
quite  exceptional  charm  of  style  and  imaginative  power,  ideally  suited  for 
school  performance,  A  close  and  accurate  study  of  Irish  folk-lore  in  the 
manner  of  Yeats,  closely  rivaling  him  in  truth  of  atmosphere  and  in  poetic 
auality.  Highly  recommended  both  as  drama  and  as  literature. 
Price,  in  cloth  binding,  50  cents 

THE  SENTIMENTAL  SARAHS 

A  Farce-Comedy  in  Three  Acts 

By  Harold  Hale 

Author  of  "The  Best  Man,"  "A  Tax  on  Bachelors,"  »77ie  Blundering^ 

Mr.  Brown,"  "  The  People's  Money,"  etc. 

Five  males,  five  females.  Costumes,  modern ;  scene,  a  single  interior. 
Plays  one  hour  and  forty  minutes.  A  bright  and  amusing  play  with  a  very 
even  cast  of  characters.  Lots  of  incident  and  plenty  of  action.  The  lead- 
ing parts  are  two  sentimental  old  maids,  but  their  adventures  are  merely 
funny  and  never  mawkish.  Professional  stage  rights  reserved  but  free  for 
amateur  performance. 

Price,  23  cents 

A  ROW  AT  THE  RUGGLES* 

A  Comedy  in  One  Act 
By  Harold  Hale 

Two  males,  five  females.  Costumes,  modern ;  scene,  an  easy  interior. 
Plays  thirty  minutes.  A  very  vivacious  and  entertaining  little  piece  telling 
a  story  of  life  during  the  honeymoon  period,  full  of  laughs  and  human  in- 
terest.    Easy,  bright,  up  to  date  and  generally  to  be  recommended. 

Price,  15  cents 

UP  AGAINST  IT 

A  Farce  in  One  Act 

By  Innis  Gardner  Osbom 

Five  males,  three  females.  Costumes,  modern  ;  scene,  an  easy  interior. 
Plays  twenty-five  minutes.  A  rapid  and  laughable  complication  of  the 
vaudeville  order  with  a  cast  of  very  even  opportunity.  An  admirable 
colored  character  part,  a  «  tough  "  young  man  and  a  burlesque  old  maid ; 
other  parts  straight.     Easy  and  effective  ;  can  be  recommended. 

Price,  13  cents 


New  Plays 


THE  MISHAPS  OF  MINERVA 

A  Farce  in  Two  Acts 
By  Bertha  Currier  Porter 

Five  males,  eight  females.  Costumes,  modern  ;  scene,  an  interior.  Plays 
one  and  a  half  hours.  An  exceptionally  bright  and  amusing  little  play  of 
high  class  and  recommended  to  all  classes  of-amateur  players.  Full  of  ac- 
tion and  laughs,  but  refined.     Irish  low  comedy  part.    Strongly  endorsed. 

Price,  2§  cents 

CHARACTERS 

Mortimer  J.  Sterling,  an  easy-going  business  man. 

Victor  Brown,  a  young  doctor,  frierid  of  the  family  and  especially 

of  Minerva. 
Harry  Stevenson,  a  club  reporter,  attentive  to  Qara, 
Barnes,  the  butler. 

Mike  Shannon,  a  very  new  policeman. 
Mrs.  Lydia  Sterling,  domestic  and  quiet. 
Minerva  Sterling,  willing  to  oblige. 
Clara  Sterling,  her  younger  sister. 
Molly,  the  maid. 

Belle  Brantley,  reporter  for  "  The  Screamer" 
Mrs.  Wright,  a  club  woman. 
Miss  Palmer,  a  philanthropic  worker. 
Mrs.  Jennie  Van  Deusen  Spuyker,  a  Personage. 
Members  of  the  reception  committee. 

A  CHANGE  OF  HEART 

A  Comedy  in  Two  Acts 

By  Albert  H.  Good 

Five  males,  six  females.     Costumes,  modern ;  scene,  a  single  interior. 

Plays  an  hour  and  a  half.     An  easy,  pretty  and  effective  play,  suited  for 

schools  or  young  people.     Scenery  not  absolutely  necessary.    Can  be 

recommended.  Price,  25  cents 

MAKING  A  SISTER 

A  Mock  Initiation  for  Ladies  in  One  Act 
By  Epes  Winthrop  Sargent 

Ten  female  characters.  Costumes,  modem ;  scenery  unimportant.  Plays 
from  forty  minutes  to  an  hour.  A  very  bright  and  lively  entertainment, 
especially  strong  in  its  dialogue.  Plenty  of  ludicrous  incident  and  char- 
acteristic action,  but  quite  without  the  element  of  "  rough  and  tumble  " 
that  would  be  so  objectionable  in  an  entertainment  for  ladies.  The  candi- 
date is  placed  in  positions  that  are  rather  undignified  but  is  neither 
mussed  nor  mauled.     Strongly  recommended. 

Price,  2$  cents 


New  Plays 


OUR  WIVES 

A  Farce  in  Three  Acts 
By  Anthony  E.  Wills 

Seven  males,  four  females.  Costumes,  modern ;  scenery,  two  interiors. 
Plays  two  hours  and  a  half.  A  bustling,  up-to-date  farce  that  deserves  the 
rather  worn  description  of  "  side-splitting."  Full  of  movement  and  action  ; 
all  the  parts  good  and  effective  ;  easy  to  produce  ;  just  the  thing  for  an  ex- 
perienced amateur  club  and  hard  to  spoil,  even  in  the  hands  of  less  prac- 
tical players.     Free  for  amateur  performance. 

Price,  2^  cents 

CHARACTERS 

RoswELL  Chandler,  a  retired  merchant.    (Old  Man.) 

Walter  Blair,  his  son-in-law.     (Comedy  Lead.) 

Oscar  Siebel,  a  composer.     (German.) 

Lloyd  Deveaux,  a  chronic  invalid.     (Character  Old  Maji.) 

John  Stanton,  a  detective.     (Comedy.) 

y[.k\A.O'K\ ,  a  reporter.     (Comedy.) 

Ford,  an  expressman.     (Utility.) 

GiLDA  Deveaux,  wife  of  Deveaux.     (Lead.) 

Mrs.  Chandler,  wife  of  Roswell.     (Old  Lady.) 

Beattie  Blair,  wife  of  Walter.     (Straight.) 

Julia,  a  French  maid.     (French.) 

THE   PACKING  OF  THE  HOME  MIS- 
SIONARY  BARREL 

An  Entertainment  in  One  Scene 

By  Mrs.  Henry  A.  Hallock 

Ten  females.  Costumes,  modern ;  scenery  unimportant.  Plays  thirty 
minutes.  One  of  those  little  satires  of  feminine  ways  that  are  so  popular 
even  with  the  ladies ;  very  shrewd  and  effective,  but  perfectly  good-na- 
tured. An  assured  success  and  very  easy  to  get  up.  Strongly  recom' 
mended. 

Price,  i^  cents 

THE  BARGAIN  COUNTER 

A  Farce  in  Three  Scenes 
By  Grace  Moody 

Five  females.  Costumes,  modern ;  scene,  an  interior.  Plays  thirty 
minutes.  A  bright  little  piece  satirizing  that  institution  so  dear  to  the  fem- 
inine heart — ««the  bargain  counter."  Full  of  good-natured  fun;  can  be 
recommended. 

Price,  15  cents 


New  Plays 


HIS    WORD   OF   HONOR 

A  Comedy  in  Three  Acts 

By  Charles  Gott 
Eleven  males,  five  females.  Costumes,  modern  ;  scenery,  two  interiors 
and  an  easy  exterior.  Plays  two  hours.  An  exceptionally  good  college 
play,  high  in  tone  and  aim,  and  faithful  in  atmosphere  and  color.  Its 
theme  is  taken  from  the  serious  side  of  college  life, — the  so-called  "  Honor 
System  "  in  college  examinations, — but  its  humorous  traits  are  various  and 
rich  and  its  general  tone  gay  and  vivacious.  Very  strongly  recommended 
for  scnools,  particularly  for  co-educational  institutions.  Will  suit  both  in- 
structors and  instructed. 

Price,  25  cents 

CHARACTERS 

Dick  Walthour,  a  senior. 

Harvey  Grant,  a  senior,  president  of  the  Student  Council. 

Bert  Flemming,  Dick"  s  roommate,  a  junior. 

Arthur  Carson,  a  Virginian,  a  Junior 

William  Henry  Fraser,  alias  "  Kid,"  a  freshman. 

Hunter,  Jackson,  King,  Wilkins,  students. 

Jeremiah  Hackett,  a  sophomore,  Fraser  s  roommate. 

Coffey,  2l postman. 

Helen  Flemming,  Berfs  sister,  a  junior. 

Janette  Gordon,  a  junior. 

Molly  Atkins,  a  freshman. 

Arethusa  a.  Judkins,  a  sophomore,  a  "grind." 

Mrs.  MacInchbald,  the  chamber-"  maid." 

Professor  Nicely,  Professor  Loomis,  and  others. 

WHEN  WOMEN  VOTE 

A  Farce  in  Two  Acts 

By  Anna  P.  See 

Five  females.     Costumes,  modern;  scenery,  an  easy  interior.     Plays 

forty  minutes.     A  good-natured  and  clever  forecast  of  the  time  when  the 

Suffragette  has  won  her  fight,  telling  an  amusing  little  story  to  carry  its 

satire.     Good  for  women's  clubs ;  easy  and  bright. 

Price,  15  cents 

BUMPS 

A  Farce  in  One  Act 
By  Lillie  Davis 

Three  females.  Costumes,  modern ;  scene,  an  interior.  Plays  twentjr 
five  minutes.  An  amusing  little  hit  at  the  fad  of  phrenology,  suitable  for 
school  performance.     Clean  and  bright. 

Price  /J  cents 


an^.-jg.i:-!:.";;^..^.  .) .-  .>>- 


New  Plays 


THE  COUNTRY  DOCTOR 

A  Comedy  Drama  in  Four  Acts 
By  Arthur  Lewis  Tubbs 

Author  of  •  •  Valley  Farm, "  "  Willowdale"  ' '  The  Village 
School-Ma  am^  ''The  Country  Minister,"  "Miss 
Buzby  s  Boarders,"  etc. 
Six   males,   five   females.     Costumes,  modern ;  scenery,  two   interiors. 
Plays  two  hours.     Easy  to  stage  and  full  of  interest.     The  female  parts 
are   the   stronger,   being    exceptionally   good.     Negro   and   "  hayseed "        < 
comedy  parts.     A  very   strong   dramatic  piece  and   a   sure   hit  in   good        jj^ 
hands.     Can  be  recommended  on  the  name  of  the  author,  whose  plays  are 
always  successful. 

Price,  2^  cents 

CHARACTERS 

Thomas  Brixton,  M.  D.,  the  village  doctor.  ' 

Howard  Wayne,  in  love  with  Dolly. 

'Squire  Ferguson,  the  sheriff. 

Sam  Birch,  proprietor  of  the  hotel. 

Zebediah  Bunn,  who  hangs  around, 

Eri,  tha{  s  all. 

Ben  Shaw,  the  stage- driver. 

Agnes  Gilbert,  shadowed  by  fate. 

Dolly  Brixton,  the  doctor  s  sister. 

Susan  Pinner,  his  housekeeper. 

Mrs.  Birch,  Sams  wife. 

Anna  Belle  Umsxead,  with  aspirations. 

SYNOPSIS 

Acx  I. — Ofifice  of  the  American  House,  Elmville,  N.  Y.,  about 
nine  o'clock  oti  an  evening  in  January. 

Acx  II. — Dr.  Britten's  residence,  a  morning  early  in  the  next 
June. 

Acx  III. — The  same,  in  the  evening,  a  week  later. 

Act  IV. — Same  as  Act  I,  the  next  morning. 

THE  MAN  WITH  THE  NOSE 

A  Farce  in  Two  Scenes 

By  Edward  P.  Knox  « 

Eight  males.  Costumes,  modern  ;  scenery,  two  interiors.  Plays  forty 
minutes.  Written  especially  for  performance  by  boys'  schools  and  rec- 
ommended for  that  purpose.  Very  clever  and  quite  unusual  both  in  idea 
and  in  treatment.  A  great  success  in  its  original  performance  at  St.  George's 
Trade  School. 

Price,  75  cents 


iStiai 


Im^frff' 


New  Plays 


ELMWOOD  FOLKS 

A  Drama  in  Three  Acts 
;  ♦  By  Charles  S.  Bird 

Author  of  "At  the  Junction,'^  etc. 
Eight  males,  four  females.     Costumes,  modern ;  scenery,  two  interiors, 
one  exterior.     Plays  a  full  evening.     An  easy  and  very  actable  piece  with 
an  unusually  even  cast  of  characters.     Clean,  wholesome  and  entertain- 
ing ;  can  be  recommended  for  school  performance. 

Price,  25  cents 

}^  CHARACTERS 

V>  David  Bainbridge,  editor  of  the  Elmwood  " Hem.'* 

James  Wentworth,  an  old  compositor. 

Squire  Alford,  a  hard  man. 

Dick  Alford,  his  stepson,  a  young  lawyer. 

Whittier  Jones,  a  contributor  to  the  "  Item." 

Tommy  Gay,  David's  apprentice. 

Mr.  Pinch,  an  officer. 

A  Messenger  Boy. 
'    Mrs.  Bainbridge,  Z>(a:z//V/ '5  o/i^. 
,   Bessie  Bainbridge,  their  daughter. 

Drucilla  Jones,  Whittier  s  aunt. 

Mary  Gay,  Mrs.  Bainbridge  s  maid.     Tommy's  sister. 

SYNOPSIS 

*       Act  I. — Office  of  the  Elmwood  Item. 

Act  II. — Lawn  beside  the  Bainbridge  home. 
Act  III. — Parlor  in  the  same. 

HER  UNCLE'S  BOOTS 

A  Farce  in  One  Act 

By  Mrs.  Myrtle  Barber  Carpenter 

Seven  females.  Costumes,  modern;  scene,  an  easy  interior.  Plays 
thirty  minutes.  An  easy  and  effective  little  play  suitable  for  Girls' 
Schools  or  young  people  in  amateur  theatricals.  Very  funny,  but  with  a 
sympathetic  thread  of  interest.     Clean  and  bright.     Recommended. 

Price,  15  cents 

AN  OUTSIDER 

'  A  College  Play  for  Girls  in  One  Act 

By  Wilhemen  Wilkes 

%        Sevtn  females.      Costumes,    modern ;    scenery,    an    interior.     Plays 
thirty-five  minutes.     An  unusually  strong  and  sympathetic  little  play  for 

•     its  length  and  pretensions,  strongly  recommended  to  schools.     The  story 
turns  upon  a  basket-ball  match  and  is  full  of  interest. 

Price,  7j  cents 


isMiMiJ^ 


New  Rural  Plays 


VALLEY    FARM 

A  Drama  in  Four  Acts 

By  Arthur  Lewis  Tubbs 
Six  males,  six  females.  Scenery,  two  interiors  and  an  exterior.  Cos- 
tumes modern.  This  play  is  powerfully  emotional,  but  is  relieved  by 
plenty  of  humor.  An  admirable  play  for  amateurs,  very  sympathetic  in 
theme,  and  with  lots  of  good  parts.  Hetty  is  a  strong  lead,  and  Perry 
Deane  and  Silas  great  parts ;  while  Azariah,  Lizy  Ann  Tucker  and  Ver- 
bena are  full  of  fun.      Plays  a  full  evening. 

Price,  2j  cents  ^ 

WILLOWDALE  ^ 

A  Play  in  Three  Acts  ^ 

By  Arthur  Lewis  Tubbs  ^ 

Seven  males,  five  females,  Sceiiery,  two  easy  interiors;  costumes 
modem.  This  is  a  play  of  exceptional  interest  and  power.  Its  combina- 
tion of  humor  and  emotional  interest  makes  it  almost  certain  to  please  any 
audience.  Admirably  suited  for  amateur  performance,  all  the  parts  being  j 
good.  Godfrey  is  an  admirable  heavy  part,  Joel,  Lem  and  Simon  capital 
character  parts.  Mis'  Hazey  a  novel  eccentric  bit,  and  Oleander  a  part  of  p 
screaming  comedy.     Plays  two  hours  and  a  quarter. 

Price,  25  cents 

DOWN    IN    MAINE 

A  Drama  in  Four  Acts 

By  Charles  Tozonsend 
Eight  male,  four  female  characters.  This  charming  play  is  Mr. 
Townsend's  masterpiece.  There  are  no  villains,  no  "  heroics,"  no  tangled 
plot  nor  sentimental  love-scenes ;  yet  the  climaxes  are  strong,  the  action 
brisk,  and  the  humor  genial,  and  the  characters  strongly  drawn.  Can  be 
played  in  any  hall ;  scenery,  of  the  easiest  sort.  No  shifting  during  any 
act.  Properties,  few  and  simple ;  costumes  modem.  Plays  a  full  evening. 
Strongly  recommended. 

Price,  23  cents 

BAR    HAVEN 

A  Comedy  in  Three  Acts 

By  Gordan  V.  May  \ 

Six  males,  five   females.     Costumes  modem ;   scenery,  two  interiors  \ 

and  an   exterior,  not  difficult.    Plays  two  hours.     An  excellent  piece,  / 
cleverly  mingling  a  strongly  serious  interest  with  abundant  humor.    Offers   '    ~' 

a  great  variety  of  good  parts  of  nearly  equal  opportunity.    Admirably  * 
suited  for  amateur  performance,  and  strongly  recommended. 

Price^  2^  cents 


THE  MAGISTRATE    ^*'*'®  *°  Three  Acta.    TwelTO  males,  four 
'  females.    Costumes,  modem ;  scenery,  all 

Interior,    flays  two  hours  and  a  half. 

THE  NOTORIOUS  MRS.  EBBSMITP  J'^r *  J°  J«y  ^f 

El,  r    males,  five  females . 
Costumes,  modem ;  scenery,  all  interiors     PL-  ys  a  full  evening. 

THE  PROFLIGATE    ^^y^^^o^-^cts    ^even  males,  eve  females. 
Scenery,  three  interiors,  rather  elaborate  ; 
costumes,  modem.    Plays  a  fall  evening. 

THE  SCHOOLMISTRESS    FarceinThreeAct8.NInemales,seven 

females.  Costumes,  modem ;  scenery, 
three  Interiors.    Plays  a  full  evening. 

THE  SECOND  MRS.  TANQCERAY  ^^^  V«^  ^^f  ^f'' 

^  males,  five  females.     Cos- 

tumes, modem ;  scenery,  three  interiors.    Plays  a  full  evening. 

SWEET  LAVENDER    ^'^^^'^y  ^  Three  Acts.    Seven  males,  four 
females.  Scene,  a  single  Interior;  costumes, 
modem.    Plays  a  full  evening. 

THF  TIMFS    ^°™®^y  ^  Four  Acts.    Six  males,  seven  females. 
Scene,  a  single  interior ;  costumes,  modem.    Plays  a 
full  evening. 

THE  WEAKFR  SFX    ^^^^^l  ^  Three  A«ts.    Eight  males,  eight 
females.    Costumes,  modem  ;  scenery,  two 
Interiors.    Plays  a  full  evening. 

A  WIFE  WITHOUT  A  SMIIF    comedy  in  Three  Acts.     Five 
A    nirC   niiUUUl   a  ^mUh    ^ales,  four  females.    Costumes, 

modom;  acAno,  a  single  interior.    Plays  a  fall  erening. 


Sent  prepaid  on  receipt  of  price  by 

W^litt  J^*  iBafier  s,  Company 

No.  5  Hamiltoa  Plaee,  Boston,  Massachusetts 


-m 


Cfje  l^illiam  Wmtn  CUitioti 
of  $la?s 

l&rite,  15  €mtg  <Catf( 


AS  Yfln  I  HTF  IT  Comedy  in  Five  Acts.  Thirteen  males,  four 
A  J  IVV  M^la.Li  li  females.  Costumes,  picturesque ;  scenery,  va- 
ried.   Plays  a  full  evening. 

CAMIT  T  F  I^rama  in  Five  Acts.  Nine  males,  five  females.  Cos- 
VAOULtLili    tumes,  modern  ;  scenery,  varied.    Plays  a  full  evening. 

INIlOMAV  Pl^'Y  ill  Five  Acts.  Thirteen  males,  three  females. 
'IIIUVIUAA    Scenery  varied ;  costumes,  Greek.    Plays  a  full  evening. 

MABY  STITAKT  Tragedy  in  Five  Acts.  Thirteen  males,  four  fe- 
iUAI\l  OIUAAl  niales,  and  supernumeraries.  Costumes,  of  the 
period ,  scenery,  varied  and  elaborate.    Plays  a  full  evening. 

THE  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE  g'I^:SSi:A\l  l7Zl!^, 

ipicturesque  ;  scenery  varied.     Plays  a  full  evening. 

RICHFT  IFII  Play  in  Five  Acts.  Fifteen  males,  two  females.  Scen- 
J\IVUL(L(lL(i'  ery  elaborate  ;  costumes  of  the  period.  Plays  a  full 
evening. 

THF  yiVAT  S  Comedy  In  Five  Acts.  Nine  males,  five  females. 
1  Mill  Al  T  ALiO  Scenery  varied  ;  costumes  of  the  period.  Plays  a 
full  evening. 


SHE  STOOPS  iO  CONQUER    m^Sel,  four  females.*' scenery  va- 


Fifteen 
es.    See 
ried  ;  costumes  of  the  period.    Plays  a  full  evening. 


TWELFTH  NIGHT;  OR,  WHAT  YOU  WILL  '^^A^mlSl 

three  females.     Costumes,'  picturesque  ;  scenery,  varied.    Plays  a 
full  evening. 


Sent  prepaid  on  receipt  of  price  by 

Walttt  1^.  'Bafeer  d,  Company 

No.  5  Hamilton  Place,  Boston,  Massachusetts 


ENI 
Tl" 


ENDO 


PLE 


